Ebb and Flow
by beckett77
Summary: Slight AU: Charles Xavier's investigations lead him ever closer to what he seeks. Erik Lehnsherr is a man hunting for only one thing. What happens when their desires intertwine? Slow building slash.
1. Gears

**Gears**

* * *

><p>The faces on the map haunted him.<p>

He thought of them while he took the train, secure in the small pocket of empty space that other travelers left around him, as though on an instinctual level they felt the threat he posed to them.

He thought of the faces while he planned his next move, meticulously and thoroughly, leaving nothing to the clumsy hands of chance.

He thought of them while he had his rare interactions with other people, scanning their visages for any sign that they knew of the secrets he sought.

He thought of them while he ate his silent meals in cold hotel rooms and foreign lands.

He thought of them as he laid in his lonely bed, willing sleep to come claim him.

And when sleep did come, his dreams were of the men on the map.

The faces consumed him.

But soon, oh, so tantalizingly soon, he would be the one consuming them.

The thought almost always brought a smile to his face - the only time he allowed that particular expression across his handsome features.

* * *

><p>From the window, there was a fantastic view of the elegant skyline and historical buildings.<p>

If one looked out and down, there was an even better view of the city. Children and mothers, wrapped against the air's chill crossed the streets, hurrying to one entertainment or another. Bankers and business men strode purposefully, expensive briefcases in hand, and disappeared into the echoing halls of their workplaces. Vendors called out their wares and police men with friendly faces patrolled up and down, watching their small fiefdom for any sign of trouble.

The street below the window was bursting with life and color.

He did not see it. Any of it. For him, there existed only the map and his quest.

Many of the faces had already become "x"s by the time he reached Geneva. It did not grant him peace, or even real satisfaction. Those "x"s had deserved their deaths, but really, they were only a means to an end.

The end. The only thing in this squalid world that mattered. His eyes sharpened on the one face that wasn't a photograph. _That_ man would never leave official photographic evidence of his existence. _That_ face he had had to draw from his memory. Memories that would have given him enough fuel to take out an entire city block.

Now, he hardly regarded the "x"s, as the fires of his obsession grew hotter, leaving little room for anything but the small pencil sketch of the most looming face of all.

The Herr Doktor.

Or, as he was currently know, Sebastian Shaw.

* * *

><p>"Sebastian Shaw, you say? Why now, that <em>is<em> intriguing."

Charles pushed his thick, flopping dark hair out of his eyes. Raven teased him mercilessly about the scattering of gray in his forelock, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

He observed his friend out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see her reaction to the reporting agent's news. She sat uncharacteristically still on the small settee that she had insisted be crammed into his tiny office, even though it was already bursting with his desk and books.

Her poker face had most certainly improved; he wouldn't have been able to tell her excitement if it weren't for the fact that one of her eyes had become its natural yellow color.

Right then, it was probably time to get the CIA out before she turned blue. She never could help herself when she got excited.

"Thank you, as always, Agent MacTaggert. We will, of course, take the case."

Startled at his abrupt acceptance, the auburn-haired woman rose slowly from her comfortable leather chair; the only other piece of furniture besides Raven's sofa and his own desk set-up. Charles felt that her surprise would not be confined to her mind, and his expectations were not disappointed.

"That's it, Professor? Usually you argue me to the ground over the necessity of investigation, what your compensation will be, how you need higher security clearance, anything and everything. Now you just say okay? What is it about Shaw? What do you already know?"

He took a moment to school his face, looking out the diamond paned windows of his study to the wide blue sky, unclouded for once. He owed Raven an apology; it seemed that he was to be the one who exposed their over-interest in Shaw.

Shaw was a boogey man in all of their investigations; he left behind only recollections in those who had seen him and lived to tell, but no actual tangible proof.

Charles had sensed the presence of an unknown and unstable variable from the first investigation MacTaggert, who for some reason had heard of his research and actually believed in it, had come to him with.

It wasn't until the third case, that he figured the variable was actually one entity, and he didn't get a name until the fifth. But once he had it, Charles was on the scent.

Working with the foreign government was still proving useful in his search for the elusive Shaw, so he would like to keep on with agent, but the professor and his friend had their own personal reasons to find the man. And he would find him, government support or not. But still, it would make things much easier to have the Americans' probably extensive file.

He looked back at the agent, who was watching him with sharp eyes. A sigh longed to escape from his lips. Everything would be so much easier if she were not so smart or intuitive. From their first meeting, when she had shot down his infallible pick-up line in the local pub and dragged him headlong into her world of espionage, he had understood perfectly how she had become the only currently serving female in the CIA.

Rubbing his fingers along his temple in an absent gesture that wasn't absent at all, he spoke aloud, "We did haggle, I was detached and drove a hard bargain and you were, once again, quite frustrated with me. You'll be sending the report on Shaw immediately."

MacTaggert's face had gone blank when he started speaking. Now that he was done, a small scowl appeared in the tension between her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

"Really Professor, the CIA is only operating for the good of the people. You would think that you would respect it a little more. I'll be sending over what we've got on Shaw immediately, now that you've so graciously agreed to look it over."

By the end of her speech, her voice dripped acid. As though she had decided that she could no longer be in the same room as them, the agent stood abruptly, pointlessly adjusting her unrumpled suit and with a curt nod to Raven, exited the room. Outside, the two men in navy flanking the door left with her, following like particularly menacing ducklings. Charles looked over at Raven, who smiled back at him, no longer bothering to hide her glee.

"Marvelous work. After last time, I thought she'd scalp you for sure if you hesitated to accept a request. Turns out she'd love to scalp you either way."

He couldn't help but to pull a face, thinking of the fierce American. Contrary to what MacTaggert thought, he did respect her and her work and hated having to tinker with her mind. But if that's what it took to get what they needed, he would do it again and again.

"Yes, well, I rather like my hair, so she'd do better to refrain."

"Oh yes, my distinguished gray professor. Wouldn't be able to pick up the co-eds scalpless, now would we?"

Raven drew near and ruffled his hair fondly. He hastily attempted to comb it back down with his fingers as she walked across the warm, if threadbare, rugs strewn about the cool wood floor.

"I'm going to go eat something before we sit here all night going over reports. Need anything?"

"You're always hungry aren't you? You must have fabulous genes to eat like you do and stay so thin."

In the doorway, she stilled. "I don't know that fabulous is what I'd call them, but sure, at least I don't have to be a fat freak too."

His heart dropped. Goodness, even if he was a telepathically gifted being, he could still manage to step on emotional landmines.

"I'm sorry, Raven. You know I didn't mean that and you are most certainly not a freak."

She didn't turn about, but he knew her well enough to guess that she would have that small tight smile on her face, the one where she was telling herself inside to toughen up.

"Yeah, I know. But I'm still going to eat all of those cookies you thought were hidden in the upper cabinet."

"What? That's not fair! You stay away from those, you, you scamp!"

With a flounce and wicked giggle, she was gone.

Damn, those were the last of the biscuits too. He supposed it was a fair price to pay though to have her laugh again.

Thinking about her, his head began to ache and his long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. When had it become so hard to navigate things with Raven, his unblooded sister and only true friend?

Maybe it was puberty, something long past for him (thank God), but still current for her. It seemed to him that she aged far more slowly than he, so it would stand to reason that she was only now entering that horrible hormonal state. The one where you obsessed endlessly over your looks and how others perceived you.

His headache became more acute. A teenaged super girl on his hands. Just splendid.

As if he didn't have enough to do already between giving lectures at the University, performing his own genetic research, and doing collaborative investigations with the CIA. He frowned and wondered yet again how a man of his prodigious talents had ended up this way; cramped in a small university-provided flat and constantly bombarded by American intelligence requests while the academic world largely thought him a quack. Oh, he had his teaching job to be sure, but that resulted from his step-father's influence far more than from the school's desire to have him on-staff.

In another life, it might have crushed him to be mocked for his dearest work – investigating mutations of human DNA leading to another species – but luckily, he lived this life. This life where he knew with certainty that the mockery he received was in error. He knew his research and theories were correct because he had living proof. It looked at him in the mirror everyday, a differently evolved human being – a mutant.

He didn't much care about showing other academics that they were wrong, but he wanted more than anything to know about the mutations because the more he knew, the better chance he would have of finding others of his kind and bringing them together. To let each of them know that they were not alone, that they were special and that they could all exist in support of each other. Like he and Raven, the only other mutant he had met, did.

He imagined them all in perfect harmony, not only with each other, but with mainstream society - humans. All that mutants and humanity could achieve together was almost impossible for him to imagine. But he believed that both species could, and should, help one another; each doing good for their community, solving the problems of the world, and coexisting in mutual acceptance.

All utopias failed, he knew that, but his vision wouldn't die. It was, quite simply, what he lived for.

Raven reappeared, carrying a tray with a steaming pot, two mugs, and the tin of biscuits. He pushed his earlier thoughts from his mind and greeted her with a quizzical expression. She smiled at his raised eyebrow, taking it for the question it was.

"I thought I should be kind to you in your dotage. Besides, we should have a mini-celebration. Soon we might have the key to finding others!"

He peered at her sternly.

"We musn't get our hopes up. He may not even be who we're really looking for."

At the disappointment in her expression, he felt himself soften.

"But he probably is, since I'm never wrong. Thanks for bringing vitals." He paused and touched his temple again, listening to a frequency audible only to him. "We're going to need them when we get the report in three…two…one."

They heard the sound of the mail flap clicking back into place and muffled steps speeding away.

"Show-off," Raven muttered, but she went to retrieve the mail with a smile.

She came back with a middling thick file. It landed on his desk with a satisfying thud.

"Tuck in, Charles."

His expression was wolfish.

"I intend to."

It wasn't until some hours later that he finished.

"Raven?"

She popped upright, clutching an afghan about her and scattering the papers that she'd been reading. Her mussed red hair shone in the light of the small fire in the grate, making her head appear to be aflame.

"Yeah?" she asked crossly.

He did so hate slang, but for now, he would overlook it.

"Fancy a trip to Miami?"

* * *

><p><strong>This is my first X-Men fic; I saw the movie and it just would not leave me alone. I had to write this story. I don't normally like AU, but it's pretty much the only way this story will logically work.<strong>

**Care to tell me what you think? Pretty please?**

**(I promise it will get slashier, if that entices you at all...;])**

**(Why yes, I am pretty much shameless.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**


	2. Motion

**Motion**

* * *

><p>The sun was too bright. It was nearly always too bright, but here, in South America, a continent diced by the Equator, it was particularly offensive, brutal even. Nothing like the temperate lands of Europe.<p>

He shrugged his shoulders, uncaring. So what if he hated the sun? The heat? The smell of sticky skin damp with sweat and all the memories it dredged up? He had a mission. He did not have time to care about superfluous things.

Pulling the brim of his hat lower, he slung his light beige jacket over his shoulder. At least the grass was nice here. Not so damn green. Easy to move in, and with excellent purchase should he need to suddenly take flight. He followed the twisting goat track that almost wasn't there, trusting that his local guide had seen how idiotic it would be to mislead him.

Men who had lived their whole lives in this climate avoided the midday heat. He, on the other hand, was indefatigable in the sun, which he hated and to which he was unaccustomed. However, unlike those men, who sought refuge in the shade of homes and trees, he had a higher motive, one that mere physical limitations would not sabotage.

For some time, he walked on, running over his plans in his mind again and again, an infinite loop of thought.

The ground sloped inexorably downward toward a small villa sunk into the fold between hills like it would melt into the earth itself. What could have been a smile ghosted across his lips. Appropriate that the structure itself would already be headed to Hell, because that's exactly where he intended to send its inhabitants.

* * *

><p>That night he sat miles away in a small hut he had rented from a prosperous, beady eyed farmer who kept spare dwellings for the paying wanderer.<p>

The people here were not unused to the "white man," not a single head had turned when he strode into the village, and his lodgings were set up in a facsimile of European comfort. It seemed that the farmer, and many of the townspeople, thrived on foreign trade, both in goods and, apparently, flesh.

Upon his return, he had had the unpleasant shock of finding that the charge for a hut also included one of the farmer's young daughters. She was waiting for him in the middle of the small wooden room - naked.

Her large dark eyes had been scared, and her whole body shook, but she seemed resigned to her fate. She was more afraid of her greedy father's wrath than anything else in her young life.

That was, until she saw his face. A single look into his eyes, and she began scrambling for her clothes. Luckily, the girl was out of the room by the time the cheap metal bedstead started up an ominous quiver.

It was only once she was gone that noticed his hands were trembling and that his whole body was rigid. He took a deep breath and tried to still them. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Today, he had killed three men, without his heartbeat elevating, but simply seeing the girl had been enough to push him from the present, which he clung to so fiercely, straight back into the cesspool of his past.

The Doktor had not had a proclivity for children, one of his only virtues, but when he had been particularly willful, the Doktor would turn a blind eye to the guards who did. It was always a relief to return to the Doktor's sickly operation room where the physical pain was something to which he could numb himself. Needless to say, he did not misbehave often.

He shook his dark head. There was no time for this pointless self-torment.

Drawing another deep breath, he pushed his memories and feelings down in his psyche, submerging them in the waters of his self-control.

Never would he touch a child.

Never would he touch someone who was not willing to be with him of their own accord.

But more importantly, never would he do something that did not directly benefit his mission.

His feelings safely locked away, calm returned. He knelt on the floor. With steadied hands, he began to unroll the map, one of two things that went with him everywhere. An appropriated black pencil from the bedside drawer became his tool of the hour.

"X"s swiftly took the place of two more faces.

He leaned back, crouching on his haunches and surveyed his work. All of the faces were gone, replaced by his mark.

All save for one.

Shaw.

Now though, he knew where he could be found.

He studied the slightly dirtied paper for a long moment before he got up from the ground and rolled onto the lumpy mattress.

There were preparations yet to be done, but he allotted himself three hours for sleep anyway.

Another not-smile crossed his face. He couldn't afford to be ill-rested when he went to meet his creator.

* * *

><p>The water was too wet. Too dark and too deep also. But mostly too wet.<p>

He sat in his small cabin on the starboard side of the ship and dully watched the waves roll along endlessly. His stomach turned as a strong swell hit the ship, making it bob up and down unpleasantly. If he had eaten anything in the past day, it would have come up. Small favors that he hadn't.

Charles disliked the water. If he was the type of person who admitted to hating things, he would have said he hated the water. He always had, ever since the first summer his mother had remarried and his step-father had pushed him from the dock into their small lake, trying to force the scholar-like boy to man-up and learn to swim.

He remembered every sensation with crystal clarity: the empty air his feet scrabbled against, the momentary weightlessness quickly replaced with sinking heaviness, the light's sparkle spread across the water, and the sound of his mother's indolent laughter floating from beneath her floppy hat.

It had been gone in a flash, a small capsule of time perfectly preserved, before he was enveloped in an unknown world where light could not reach him and air escaped his mouth in giant bubbles. It was the only moment of true panic he had experienced in his life.

Down there, he learned something. Something that he could never un-know. He learned that he was going to die, even if his step-father's strong rower's arms were bringing him back to the surface and screaming apologies into his senses today, he was still going to die.

This was the moment where he had realized that his powers did not make him better than anyone else, not really, because, while he could read minds, he could, and would, die just as easily as any human.

Charles Xavier, mighty telepath, was also subject to the great equalizer.

Yes, all in all, the professor did not care much for water.

Raven knew this, even if he'd never told her why (the incident occurred before her entrance to his life), and had been quite attentive, bringing him soup she had bullied the ship's cook into making specially for him and refraining from teasing him too much.

It was quite sweet of her, but mostly, he just wished she would leave him be.

There was no way he was going be able to deal with her pouting if she felt that he was slighting her efforts on his behalf, so he wasn't going to tell her that she was **not **his unofficial nurse, or to stop bringing food he couldn't keep down, or quit trying to mother him, but in his mind he screamed it.

Honestly, it was more work than he felt capable of doing to open the ship's window, daring the water to come take him, and be sure that no one could see before dumping the soups out of it. It was also difficult to continually refrain from burning the cold, _wet_ rags she kept putting on his forehead.

He sincerely hoped to never again travel by sea.

As if his thinking about her was a summons, Raven appeared in the door that separated their adjoining rooms like an evil genie. He shuddered. If he got off this damn ship in the next minute, it still wouldn't be soon enough.

She crossed the small space, bringing the smell of open skies and salt with her, and felt his forehead. He meekly submitted, but inside, he boiled. Why on Earth could she not let him _alone_?

"No fever. You'll be right as rain as soon as we hit land, I suspect. Plenty of people have a fear of the water, you shouldn't be embarrassed Charles."

He couldn't meet her soft, understanding eyes as dull red blotched across his face.

Damn the minx. Why hadn't he remembered how well she knew him? Just because she'd been difficult lately didn't mean that she wasn't still very attuned to his emotions.

She smiled at him kindly, "You don't have to read minds to realize it, babe."

He felt badly then for the way he'd been responding to her considerate care. She'd probably known he was ungrateful, but had done what she could for him anyway, because she loved him, because they were family.

"You're right. I'm sorry; I just don't like to talk about it. Water makes me feel funny."

Sympathetic, she nodded, and he felt another guilty pang.

"Raven," she straightened at the serious tone of his voice, "thank you. Truly, you've been great. I don't deserve to have a sister like you."

She laughed, a light, pleasant sound. "Tell me something I don't know."

Bending, she pressed cool lips to his forehead. "But luckily for you, you do, so don't worry about it. Now I love you too and all that, but I came to tell you that I was going to go sun on the deck with the Chef Louie, and now, I'm going to be late. So you know where to find me if you need anything."

Twiddling her fingers in farewell, she called out, "Ciao, babe!"

Fondly, he watched her blonde blending-in form leave the room. Until he realized something and a small frown marred his typically smooth face.

_Wait a minute. Since when does she call me babe?_

Wrapping the blanket more firmly about himself, Charles flopped back on the narrow bunk with an indignant huff. Her slangy, inappropriate language was getting out of control. They were going to have to have a talk…. Another wave hit the side of the ship and he wanted to retch. A talk was in order, all right, just as soon as they got off this Godforsaken tub.

* * *

><p>Two days later, a smiling MacTaggert met them at the marina. She was impeccably dressed in a dark skirt suit, as always, and hustled them into a waiting black car.<p>

She waited while they climbed into the back seat, slamming the door shut as soon as the professor's foot was clear.

Opening the front passenger door, she got in too, and exchanged greetings with her bespectacled partner, who eased the vehicle away from the curb.

The car reminded Charles of the long black hearses that had pulled most of his family away, never to be seen again, and he repressed the urge to dive out the open window, instead contenting himself with sliding closer to Raven.

She looked over at him curiously, since he wasn't usually the one who initiated physical contact. Her hand came down and patted his knee anyway, providing reassurance without words. She was there, she wouldn't leave him. He wasn't alone.

Finally, he relaxed back into the plush seat cushions. It had to be admitted that the car _was_ comfortable.

Done catching up with her partner, MacTaggert turned about in her seat, sitting on her knees to peer at her passengers.

"You look positively ill, Professor. Have a rough voyage?" she asked with just a bit too much hope that that was the case for Charles' taste.

"As good as can be expected on that junker you people sent over. What, the hell was that? You couldn't afford something with a little less rust?"

Right on cue, there was his sister to his defense. Nice of her, but again, she wasn't his keeper; he could help himself, thank you very much. MacTaggert opened her mouth, with a no doubt clever and withering answer, but Charles cut her off.

"Sorry, she's a bit out of sorts today. Turns out the chef she was chatting up had a wife. But to answer your question, no, the voyage was lovely. I'm just a tad worried about this operation. Shaw makes eels look like sandpaper."

The agent was not placated, but then, he didn't expect her to be. No, he wanted her to be distracted away from a fight, and at the mention of Shaw, he saw all thoughts of putting Raven in her place flee her mind. The woman really was dedicated to her work.

"I'm guessing your strange metaphor means that he's a pretty slick character. And you're right, he is, but I have every confidence in the plan we've come up with."

She leaned over further, bringing their faces closer than was comfortable for him, and Charles began to feel like the lamb who'd unexpectedly discovered that what he thought was his mother was actually the big, bad wolf he was forever being warned about. The impression was only heightened by her bright smile that exposed all of her teeth.

"I'm not supposed to tell you until we get to HQ, but I think you'll _love_ it."

Something in the drawl of her voice told him that he was not going to like the plan very much at all.

* * *

><p>He was right. He did not like the plan at all, especially since it involved him attempting to convince MacTaggert's higher ups that they should even be allowed to move forward with it in the first place.<p>

Charles could not remember being more frustrated in his life. He stood at the head of a handsome table in a well-appointed room, addressing a group of the highest ranking intelligence officials, who all watched him with rapt expressions, as he laid out his altered (mutant free) theory about Mr. Shaw; it was a fantastical scene, with him in the hero's position.

_Ha, if only_. He didn't know how he could possibly live without it, but sometimes, his mutation could be a curse.

In this instance, he could tell that behind the attentive faces, there were blank minds, thinking about silly things like pie and children and how "hot" MacTaggert was, too bad you couldn't fuck other agents (that last one was actually not silly at all, more like highly inappropriate and he was going to warn the lady in question to stay far away from Mr. Smith). It was rude and distracting.

Only one man in the back of the room was listening, and he was clearly something of a joke here, since he hadn't even been given a seat at the table.

Normally, disbelief didn't bother Charles; but here, among people who were responsible for the safety of an entire nation, and were endangering that nation through willful ignorance, his long, patient fuse, was starting to reach its end.

Pie man, the director of the CIA, looked up with his conclusion, and turned to MacTaggert.

"Basically, you and your pet crackpot over here think that there's one hidden guy masterminding our entire conflict with Russia? On both sides?" his derision was clear in his voice and scorn colored his mind.

"Sir! We've been investigating this for months. I would never come to you if I didn't think I had something. Shaw has been observed by multiple witnesses in underhanded dealings –"

"Whoring out a handful of prostitutes in Vegas hardly counts as federal government investigation worthy. And I believe you crashed that party in your _underwear_, MacTaggert."

The men around the table broke into laughter, half of them secretly imagining the woman undressed to that degree, like they did in most meetings, and the chastised agent turned brick red.

It was too much for Charles and he was glad that he made Raven stay in the debriefing room.

If these men could think like this about their colleague and fellow service member, he didn't want to know what their thoughts would shout about his sister in her lovely blonde form.

What their minds said about MacTaggert was more than enough to give rise to his protective tendencies. Certainly he and the agent had their issues, but he respected and liked her, and thought that her mind was one of the most honorable he had ever experienced. She was wholly undeserving of such treatment.

"That's hardly a fair criticism," he started, trying to speak over them, but he was drowned out, overwhelmed by stupid thoughts and jack-assed laughter.

The man in the back cleared his throat, a small sound that nonetheless cut through the noise.

"If I remember correctly, that particular case involved a federal official, sensitive information, and the illegal transport of underage girls – a clear violation of the Mann Act," he stated mildly.

The director, Charles recalled that his name was McCone, spun about and eyed him in disbelief.

"You're buying into this bullshit? You can't be serious."

The other man just smiled. "Oh, but I am. If you don't want to follow up with them, I will. My boys have plenty of time and resources."

McCone regarded him with narrowed eyes, coming to a decision. "Fine," he snapped.

Charles saw that he felt badly for embarrassing MacTaggert, whose promotion to field agent he himself had pushed through, and just wanted this thing to be over. If all it took was shuttling them off with the kook where they couldn't hurt anything, then that worked for him.

"Take 'em and go."

The telepath couldn't leave the room fast enough, and Agent MacTaggert was right behind him, but McCone stopped them again, fixing the woman with a searing look. "If you fuck anything up, I promise you, you will find yourself back in the typing pool before you can so much as blink."

Charles admired the way she stood straight and answered back with a crisp, "Yes, sir," while the flush of humiliation still tinted her cheeks.

An honorable woman indeed.

Breaking the tableau, the man from the back ushered them forward and out into the hall.

"There's another member of your party, right? Let's get her and get out. Seems like we don't have much time."

Seemingly recovered from her ordeal, (which Charles realized with a start was probably less an ordeal and more business as usual), MacTaggert gave the man a tight smile.

"Not much time at all, sir. We need to be in Miami by tomorrow night."

This excited their strange companion, who clapped his hands enthusiastically together.

"I've got a good feeling about this. I can't wait for you to meet my boys."

He bounded forward, pushing into the space between them, and linked his arms through theirs. Charles found that he did not even want to touch the oddness that was his mind.

He looked at agent over the shorter man's head, but she only shrugged, completely nonplussed as well.

Neither of them pulled away, however, and the trio continued abreast down the white halls, with the strange man nattering on about his "boys" and receiving surprised stares from everyone who saw them.

By the time they had collected Raven, who linked her arm with his without question, and reached the spacious lobby, the professor couldn't hold back a sigh.

He was not liking how this plan was shaping up. Not at all.

And not only that, now he had the image of Judy Garland and lions, and tigers, and bears burning in his mind – a picture that he wasn't imagining.

He looked askance at the shorter man again. Definitely odd.

They had exited the building and were walking down the stairs when the picture changed. He stumbled and would have fallen on his face if not for a quick pull from Raven. He smiled at her in thanks, but then his face returned to a scowl.

Why on Earth had the man given Judy Garland his face?

A right weird savior this one was turning out to be.

God, he was going to need a stiff drink. The sooner, the better.

* * *

><p><strong>Holy bajonkers, this is the longest single chapter I've ever written. Seriously, I have entire fics that are near this in length.<strong>

**Thank you to everyone who responded to the first posting. I was over the moon, and hence, wrote this at light speed.**

**If you want me to get to the next chapter just as quickly, (the chapter where Erik and Charles may very well cross paths), then you know what you need to do...**

**(The answer is Review, just in case you didn't pick up on my masterful subtlety. ;])**


	3. Revelations

**Revelations**

* * *

><p>A small single engine plane flew over the marsh, shattering the silence of the wetlands with its mechanical drone. An alligator flicked open one of its golden eyes, looking for the source of the noise, as the birds around it took wing, but the aircraft was far beyond his line of sight. Losing interest, the reptile resumed its log-like dose, waiting for the next fish unwary enough to swim its way.<p>

Aboard the plane, the pilot flew on, mercilessly pressing forward. Even without the bone-shaking vibrations of the machine crying out in warning, the man was well aware that he was pushing his vessel to the boundaries of its abilities. However, he was experienced enough to know exactly how far he could stretch the plane's limits without the engine falling apart on him; and if it did, he would force all the metal pieces back together anyway.

For it simply wouldn't do to be late to the most important meeting of his life.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, the strange man did, in actuality, head-up a super secret scientific research facility. Agent MacTaggert's boxy black car nosed through security checkpoints, bringing the complex slowly into view.<p>

There was a massive central building made in a modern style with thick concrete walls. The structure's impression of stoutness was undercut, however, by the abundance of windows in those walls. Windows were everywhere, reflecting the sky and helping blend the concrete into the surrounding landscape, transforming the great gray block into something more organic looking.

Charles found them to be excessive, especially in what was ostensibly a militaristic station, but even his practical aesthetics couldn't deny the effect to be oddly lovely. Still though, he didn't know how wise it was having all those openings, well, open.

Beside him, Raven cooed, "Ooo, your place is so beautiful Mr. – Hey, what is your name anyway?"

That was right. Their savior hadn't told them his name yet. Surely MacTaggert knew it, but she hadn't volunteered the information, and Charles hadn't remembered to ask (or wanted to check with his powers). The unnamed man grinned and tapped the side of his nose with a stubby forefinger.

"My name? Well, that's for me to know, and you to never find out, but I suppose for now, you could call me by my old code name."

His sister leaned forward, intrigued. Her curiosity would be the death of him someday. "What is it?"

"Ahab."

The tension left her body and she shifted back in the seat. She wrinkled her pert nose. "Ahab? That's not cool at all. Code names need to be cool."

Unoffended with her rude tone, the man relaxed into his seat.

"But it is 'cool,' " he said, employing air quotes around the word without a trace of irony, (something Charles had never before thought possible).

"Ahab hunts Moby Dick, right? Hunts him despite the fact that everyone thinks he's crazy. Hunts him until there's nothing left of himself. And that's what I do."

The man turned around with an expression as serious as either of them had seen on his face. Charles could tell by the tension in MacTaggert's shoulders that she too was listening closely.

"I'm always looking for the white whale. The next thing, the next step. And I don't care who thinks I'm crazy for it. All those guys at HQ have to put up with me because most advancements in American science for the past decade have come from my labs in one way or another."

He fixed Charles in his surprisingly intense grey-eyed stare, "And I think that your research, Professor Xavier, may very well be what's going to bring us to the new tomorrow."

The eyes broke contact, flicking over to Agent MacTaggert and back to Charles again.

"Also, I want to hear what you really think about Shaw and not that fairytale you fed to the board. I'm guessing Moira here hasn't been told either?"

MacTaggert's auburn head jerked, like she wanted very much to turn around and fix Charles with the dirtiest of looks, but she was too conscientious a driver to abandon watching the road.

"What do you mean there's something I haven't been told?" she asked in her smoothest voice.

The voice that she used right before she used lethal force or badgered Charles into taking a case. It was a voice he had learned to fear. It did not bode well that he was hearing it presently.

Ahab, as he now must be called, turned to the front of the car.

"I'm not 100%, but I'm pretty sure the professor doesn't think a mutant strain of humanity is theoretical at all – and that this Shaw guy is one. A pretty powerful one at that."

The normally velvet tongued Charles Xavier found himself speechless.

Wasn't _he_ supposed to be the telepath?

Clearly, he had underestimated their savior, arrogantly thinking him to be just another man, albeit a kind one, who had stumbled his way into power through connections and lucky happenstance. Arrogance was the professor's greatest failing, and one of these days, it was going to cost him a great deal when he fell into its trap.

Resolved to set the matter aright, he reached out to Ahab's (what a silly name, he winced internally) mind.

In something of panic, he had intended to erase the entire conversation, but what he found gave him pause.

Ahab's was a strange mind to be sure, but, in its own way, it was also a highly logical one. And incredibly open; here was someone that firmly believed nothing was impossible, or all that improbable. He was also trustworthy, wanting no glory for himself, only desiring the knowledge that he had done what he could with his life to help humanity. A completely selfless individual was incredibly rare, (if in fact any ever had existed, Charles would be surprised), but this man came close.

The contents of Ahab's mentality soothed his worries, and he withdrew, leaving everything intact. His dream was for mutants to exist companionably and openly with humans. Not for each to hide themselves in mutual fear and suspicion.

Well, the first step to that vision was trusting _these_ humans.

MacTaggert had proven herself time and again, with her innate honor and regard for living things.

Mr. Ahab had spoken up for them at the meeting when he did not have to do so, and was even now bringing them to the place he thought of as his home.

The import of the moment sat heavily upon Charles' shoulders when he spoke, "You are correct, Mr. Ahab. I'm sorry Agent MacTaggert. I did not think it wise to tell you."

"Didn't think it wise? Wise? I come halfway across the globe to find you, because what you're positing, I know it's right, we work together for a year, and you don't think it wise to tell me that mutants _already_ exist? And we've been dealing with one the whole time?"

Her voice was a sibilant hiss. Charles didn't think he had felt more of an ass in his life. His arrogance and determined pride was already costing him the respect of his colleague, and if he was being honest, his friend.

"I am sorry. I was too wrapped up in my own theories to see how much this affected you," he glanced around the car. "All of you."

He drew a breath in through his nose… If he'd already gone this far, he'd best finish it.

"My thoughts on the case are a bit of a sensitive subject for me, considering that I am a mutant."

The car shuddered to a halt just outside the building's entrance. MacTaggert's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers had gone white at the knuckles.

"Everything. I want everything, Professor. We're going straight to his office and you're going to tell m- us."

Her driver's side door opened and slammed back shut. Charles watched through the glass as she swept out of the car and up into the formidable building, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

Of one accord, all three other occupants exited the vehicle and followed her in silence, not daring to speak.

* * *

><p>By the time they'd reached Ahab's minimalistic personal office, MacTaggert had cooled off somewhat. She was still furious, but her thoughts were not flying from her in every direction, singeing Charles' nerves with their heat.<p>

However, once there, unlike the rest of them, she did not take a chair, choosing instead to pace the floor. The thick metal door had barely clicked close before she rounded on them.

"So, what's really going on here?"

It was his last chance to back out; he could still delete this entire thing from their minds or freeze their consciousnesses, giving him and Raven a chance to escape.

He found that the idea was unappealing.

So, he told them.

Told them how he had had telepathic powers for as long as he remembered and had grown up wanting to find the scientific basis for his seeming magical abilities.

How that research had turned into a lifelong calling and his driving obsession.

He admitted his life's goal; to find others of his kind, to help them.

Here, Agent MacTaggert looked pointedly at Raven, who had been silent this whole time, "Your girlfriend already knows about all this?"

They both physically recoiled.

"Girlfriend?" Raven croaked. "No way, he's my brother."

"Oh," the woman stopped pacing, uncomfortable, "my apologies. You just – ah, don't look alike, and you're so friendly with one another."

But Charles got the impression that what the agent said was engineered to get a response.

He and Raven were obviously not romantically involved, (the idea was disturbing on many levels.) No, MacTaggert hadn't been speaking in innocent ignorance; she was fishing for something.

"Well, um," his sister continued, "we're not really related. He sorta found me."

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes darted over to him. Raven too was angling. At times like these, he regretted having promised never to read her mind.

Her next slow words took him by surprise, although, they shouldn't have.

"I'm a mutant too."

She steeled herself, like she was readying to take a blow, and then, with one last glance at him, she shifted.

Long blonde locks were replaced by straight, shoulder length red hair.

Green eyes changed to yellow, pupils becoming vertical and whites disappearing.

Smooth skin became ridged, traced with patterns that no one understood.

Most shockingly though –

"You're blue?" MacTaggert blurted.

Raven winced, expecting that, but not unaffected all the same.

"Yeah. What of it?" she responded coolly.

"Magnificent," breathed Ahab.

Charles had almost forgotten he was in the room, caught up as he had been with his sister's self revelation. The man got up from behind his desk, and walked forward like he couldn't stop himself.

"You were, of course, always lovely, but now. Wow."

Self-conscience, Raven wriggled in her seat. "Uh, thanks."

Uncomfortable with Ahab's staring, even if the man wasn't thinking anything inappropriate, Raven's brother cleared his throat. The sound jolted the older man.

"Sorry, sorry. No offense. It's not every day that I see this sort of thing, you know."

He sat back down heavily and the girl resumed her blonde human form. MacTaggert still looked shell-shocked, but there was a tinge of satisfaction to her thoughts.

_Hmm_. It seemed he was right, as he always was, she _had_ been fishing. For what though?

He had to know, and so peeked into her thoughts.

* * *

><p>MacTaggert was happy to have maneuvered Raven into showing herself. She had deduced that Charles couldn't have been the only mutant, since he wouldn't be so hell-bent on finding more if he didn't already know that there <em>were<em> more, and that girl who was always with him was the likely suspect.

Obviously, she was more special to the professor than a mere sister or girlfriend. She was something else. MacTaggert had never even seen him with another person before, but he'd always insisted that the girl be privy to everything that went on, like she too had personal stake in his investigations.

Now that she knew the professor thought that other mutants were at the end of this trail, then, knowing him, he would only be sharing so much information with the girl if she wanted to find them too.

And her suspicions had just been confirmed. Mentally, she was doing a bit of preening.

* * *

><p>Charles drew back, impressed. It was a neat bit of detective work MacTaggert had just done. Clear cut, practical, and devastatingly accurate.<p>

He mentally noted that if the need ever arose, MacTaggert's mind would be very difficult to alter. It would take far more power than he put into his occasional suggestion implantation to fiddle with her memory.

But such dreary thoughts were not the point. He was here to tell them about the reality of Shaw and prepare for their next step.

"If we're done proving ourselves, may I continue?"

"No," snapped the agent, "Your sister just showed us what she can do. You say you're a telepath; how does that work?"

He shook his head, "We hardly have tim-"

"Charles," Raven interrupted gently, "we do. They should know. I'm sure they're anxious to know what exactly it is you can do."

MacTaggert watched Raven with narrowed eyes, as though she did not agree with what the girl was saying, but the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot gave her away. She was nervous.

She had every right to be, the professor realized.

"Oh alright. I can canvass minds, hear thoughts, freeze the concioussness of people in a one mile radius, like a time-stop, change memories, communicate mind to mind, and implant suggestions. But everything, aside from hearing thoughts, which just fly from people willy-nilly, takes a concentrated effort, and I don't do it unless the situation requires."

_Or I feel like it,_ he silently added, but, of course, none of the psi-nulls in the room heard him.

The fidgeting agent went completely still.

"Is that all?" she asked, voice faint, but tone slightly teasing.

" 'Fraid so."

No longer able to contain himself, Ahab sprang from his chair.

"Excellent, excellent. I am very glad I went to that stupid meeting today after all. Mutants! Alive and well among us. Imagine the possibilities!"

"Yes, Director C –"

"Ahab," the man cut her off.

"Director Ahab," MacTaggert continued, "though this is certainly a shocking development, Shaw is still our focus, unless we want nuclear war."

She turned her eye to Charles, "Professor, how does he fit into all of this?"

He felt a stab of fondness. The woman learned that he could read her mind, and her most pressing concern remained her work. Ridiculously honorable.

"Shaw actually falls into this eerily well. I've been working with Agent MacTaggert for nearly a year and all of our cases have had something off with the evidence. Things always came together a bit too neatly or there were strange dangling threads. It nagged at me, so I looked into it."

Raven made a small noise.

"We looked into it, sorry. We searched past case files and current ones, and it was apparent to us that there was something connecting all of them. I poured back over all of the personal testimonies and reports. Every one of them had strange links to each other, it couldn't be coincidence."

"What links?" Ahab asked. MacTaggert looked put-out that he'd beaten her to the punch.

"They all contained mention of some sort of supernatural happening; either strange winds, men taking bullets without dying, people disappearing and turning up in another spot almost simultaneously."

"More than one mutant," the agent guessed.

"Probably. There's someone out there, who either had an incredible array of mutations, or is controlling others of his kind. I don't know what they hope to gain from it, but it seems that war between Russia and America is what they're after right now. If we get to Shaw in Miami, we may be able to stop him before he succeeds."

Charles swallowed, and determination filled his voice.

"If he does have followers, I'll show them that they're not alone and that they don't have to rely on a person like him; they can be free."

Ahab nodded his dark head and came forward to clap a large hand on Charles' shoulder.

"A most noble motive, Professor Xavier. Well, let's go see what m'boys can do for your mission."

Raven and Ahab left, but MacTaggert hung back. Charles felt her desire to say something to him, alone, so he stayed too.

"I truly am sorry," he began, but she waved aside his apology, swatting the invisible words from the air.

"I know. I'm sorry too. I apologize for losing my temper. This must have been incredibly hard for you to share after keeping it a secret for so long.'

She paused to take a breath, daring him to interrupt.

"I – I wanted to thank you for trusting me. Us. And I want you to know, that even if you can read my mind, I don't, well_ mind_, because I trust you too, Professor."

"Charles, please," was all he could croak out.

Goodness gracious, he was being girly, getting all choked up, but he knew how much it cost MacTaggert to tell him this, to be this emotionally open. He appreciated it, more than she would ever know.

"Charles," she said, rolling his name over her tongue. "I like it much better than Professor."

She stuck out her hand, holding it stiff and sideways. He took it, and together, they shook.

"Charles, nice to meet you, my name's Moira."

It was utterly silly and cliché, but it meant something to him. He couldn't help it.

Here was his second friend, someone who knew all that he was and still wanted to hang around.

Best of all, she was human.

They broke hands and he went to sling his arm about her shoulder, as he often did with Raven, but thought better of it when she eyed him suspiciously.

Right then, so they wouldn't be touchy-feely friends. He could most definitely live with that.

He smiled at her instead, as they went down the hall to join up with the waiting Raven and Ahab, who, in the interim, Raven had rechristened Mr. A, much to Charles' relief. He did so dislike silly nick-names.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship," he whispered to Moira as they walked up to the waiting pair.

"More like friendly business association," she sauced back.

Friends, yes. Good friends, maybe. Best friends, no.

He would take it.

"You and your girlfriend need to hurry up, Charles," his sister shot mischievously over her shoulder.

It was he and Moira's turn to recoil.

They looked at each other in perfect agreement.

Girlfriend,_ hell no._

* * *

><p><strong>Another bit of ground-work bites the dust.<strong>

**What's that you say? I said last chapter that Erik and Charles would meet in this one? What I meant to say was that they'll meet in Chapter Four. Silly me, my mistake.**

**If you want Chapter Four to see the light of day (or you know, the light of your computer screen), you must bring me your first born child at the height of the full moon.**

**Oh alright, if you're going to to cry like that, fine, I'm feeling generous today. How about a review instead?**


	4. Encounters

**Encounters**

* * *

><p>Crouched in an old boat house, whose splintering wooden legs looked as though they would give way with the next big breaker, he could smell nothing but the ocean. The salty scent was sharp and covered up everything; the same way that its waters hid the floor of the Earth.<p>

He supposed that many men had found refuge in the cold, but forgiving embrace of the sea, whose tides did not pass judgment or uphold the laws of man.

People like Sebastian Shaw.

Tonight though, the water would not act as a safe haven.

No, tonight, the water would be a tomb.

* * *

><p>He had laid everything out meticulously. His every action fit precisely into a slot in his mental timeframe; there was no wasted second. Waste meant failure. A second behind or ahead and it would mean that his strike, his one shot at incapacitating Shaw, would not be perfectly timed.<p>

He needed all of the power he could use and some extra for good measure. Fleetingly, a small grimace touched his face. There would be no easy take-down of the Herr Doktor – long experience had taught him that. But, it had also taught him the value of persistence, and he was nothing if not that, when it came to his plans for the man.

He shifted his weight, feeling the rubber of his black wetsuit pull against his skin as he moved out to the edge of the boat house dock, counting his slow deep breaths.

One.

His chest expanded.

Two.

It retracted.

Three.

Air filled his lungs.

Four.

He sliced through the dark night into the water.

Not a second behind, nor a second ahead.

Everything was going to go accordingly to plan.

* * *

><p>They reached Miami, with little incident. Mr. A hadn't had time after all to introduce them to his boys in the space between forming their plan and implementing it, but they had taken a flight on one of his enhanced performance planes, which had gotten them to the Southern tip of the country faster than Charles or Agent MacTaggert had expected.<p>

Deflecting their praise, Mr. A claimed that the craft was only as good as its pilot and he had, of course, chosen his best for this mission. Hank was normally at work in the lab, but he was the go-to-guy when Mr. A needed someone someplace in a hurry and in one piece.

They hadn't had time to meet the young man, but Charles had made a note to thank him, should they be properly introduced at some point.

As it was, he was soon occupied by the task at hand, and no further thoughts of the impressive pilot crossed his consciousness.

* * *

><p>The southern Florida metropolis was the place they hypothesized Shaw was using as a base of sorts. Charles had deduced the city as Shaw's location by triangulating the reports' mentions of supernatural phenomena to several areas.<p>

The phenomenon proved to be isolated to the major cities in America: New York, Los Angeles, Washington D.C., Los Vegas, and Miami. Of these, Miami had had the least recorded happenings of a similar nature to the others, so it was Charles' hunch that Shaw was:

A. a metropolitan guy

B. a megalomaniac, thinking of his actions only on a large scale and thus drawn to glamorous places; especially places with water access

C. trying to keep quite in the place that he was most likely to be – Miami.

When Moira had gotten a tip from one of her contacts about an unregistered yacht in one of the city's marinas, their suspicions had only been heightened.

"No one, save for criminals, which Shaw undoubtedly is, acquire something that expensive without the government knowing about it. And if it's not Shaw, that vessel probably needs to be paid a visit anyway," she had stated with a steely tone.

* * *

><p>Charles shuddered at the memory; even if they were on the same side, government could be a scarily invasive entity.<p>

Raven, who was perched at the rail next to him felt the shudder, peered at him in concern.

"How you holding up, Charlie?"

She hadn't called him Charlie since he was sixteen. It was his turn to scrutinize.

She must be feeling nervous herself if she was using an old pet name. Especially one that she had always reserved for times when she really needed him; like when a butler had caught her shifting form and Charles had had to modify his memory.

It had been only the second time the young telepath had used that particular aspect of his powers and he'd botched it somewhat. The butler had been rather forgetful ever since. His step-father tried to get rid of the man on a semi-annual basis. But no matter how many candlesticks he'd left unpolished or guests standing in the hall, Charles had made sure he wasn't fired, and when he retired, Charles' estate sent him a handsome pension payment every month. He checked in on the man occasionally as well. It did little to assuage his guilt, but he knew that for Raven and their safety, he would do the same thing over.

She knew what kind of connections he felt to the name, and in unspoken understanding, she's stopped using it in their late teens. It was concerning that she was calling him Charlie now. That, more than anything, spiked his anxiety about the entire operation. He couldn't just let her feel lonely and afraid.

He took a step nearer to her and pulled her from the rail into his arms. She was wonderfully warm and solid. After the initial stiffness that she often had with him these days, she softened and her arms wrapped around his back.

"I'm not great, but nothing I can't bear. How are you?"

The arms about him tensed, like she was considering very carefully how exactly to answer the question. He gave her all the time she needed to gather her thoughts. Rushing Raven never turned out well.

"I know it's stupid, but I can't help feeling like this is all going to go so wrong," she supplied finally.

It hurt him to hear his sister sound so small, but he couldn't deny that her concerns were valid. She wasn't a child and neither was he.

"We're all worried, love. But we have to try. If we don't, then what are we living for?"

Charles heard what sounded suspiciously like a sniffle from the face buried in his collar, but Raven's voice was steady when she replied.

"Stand for something or fall for anything. You're right."

She pushed away from him then, moving back to the rail, facing into the night wind. Suddenly, she seemed unreachable, far from him. Not like the small girl that ran to him crying about skinned knees and unsolvable math problems, but someone aloof, alien. She turned back to him with a smile and the impression fled, gone before Charles had time to examine it.

"Sebastian Shaw's going to find that we won't fall for anything."

That definitely sounded like his sister. Brave, brash, and a little naïve. He wished that he could have her certainty.

He didn't go to stand next to her, since he had enough to concern him without getting any closer to the water. Instead, he smiled brightly in response.

"Right you are, darling."

* * *

><p>His body, propelled by the practiced motions of his arms and legs, moved forward through the waves. He ignored it, but by the time he reached the yacht that held Shaw, he had started to tire.<p>

Normally when he had to swim any substantial distance, he would find the metal in the land under the water and use it as focal points to pull himself along.

The ocean though, was too deep for him to feel the bottom properly. It was also too risky to use his abilities before the plan called for it. There would be no chance of victory if his target so much as suspected his presence. Shaw would be gone, and he knew it could be years before he found him again.

He did not want that. He wanted this to be done now. She couldn't rest until Shaw was dead; the wailing in his dreams told him so.

* * *

><p>He wasn't stupid enough to suppose that Shaw would be alone on the boat. The man had always loved to surround himself with guards and lackeys.<p>

The plan had allowed for that. He'd given himself plenty of power and time to take out up to twenty armed men.

What the plan hadn't allowed for was what was actually aboard the vessel.

* * *

><p>Shortly after his conversation with Raven, Charles stood back at the steering column, flanked by Moira and Mr. A.<p>

He touched an index finger to his temple and concentrated on clearing his mind.

He let go of the external noises: the sound of the boat's motor, the hushed voices of men, and the thoughts of those nearest to him.

Next, were his own inner sounds: his fear, anxiety, anticipation, and thousand random notions were all fed into the void; safely tucked away until he could again afford to entertain them.

It was always a challenge for his active mind to quiet like this, but he needed it. Freezing the consciousness of others was one of his harder tricks to perform and required a lot of concentration in the best of circumstances.

Now, surrounded by miles of water, and trying to target specific individuals, whom he had never before seen, rather than a blanket radius of people, the conditions for the freeze were far from ideal.

Deep inside himself, in his most secret thoughts, he didn't honestly expect that he would succeed, but he would do everything he could; their plan hinged upon it.

Intently focused, he sent his mental projection careening across the waves, reaching out to the boat and searching it for occupants. It was strangely empty, save for the four presences he felt on the fore deck.

Before he could enter any of them though, there was a strange flare and everything turned sharp, stony, and immobile. Running into the presence caused a pain greater than any he had ever known. The recoil sent him screaming back into his own body.

When he hit back into himself again, it was like a physical sensation and Charles fell to the ground in a great deal of pain. His friends rushed closer, as he panted on the floor, but he sent them back with a wave of his hand. It would only make the psychic reaction greater if they touched him.

Using all of the strength he had left in his wobbling muscles, Charles grasped the steering column and leveraged himself upright. His body shouted its protest, but he obstinately stayed standing; it wouldn't help anyone's moral for him to curl up on the floor awash in pain.

Despite his resolve, the small wheel bedecked structure held most of his weight and it was with great effort that he spoke, "They have another telepath. I'm afraid I won't be much help after all."

"Fuck."

"Shit."

Moira and Raven swore simultaneously. He wasn't quite sure who had said what, but as of this moment, there was no Earthly way his sister was getting out of the sanctity of language talk. Provided, naturally, that they survived this whole thing.

Charles gave them a polite smile that indicated he was feeling anything other than polite.

"Sorry to disappoint ladies, but we'll just have to move to the back-up plan."

Moira had the decency to look abashed as she and Mr. A radioed their units, giving the command to move forward with the Beta Maneuvers. Raven, however, glared at him.

"Not everything revolves around you, you know. We're allowed to express disappointment that the plan we all came up with – that you said would work – didn't."

"It would have worked if Shaw hadn't gone and gotten a telepath," Charles snapped.

"You're the one always going on about finding other mutants and working together. Shouldn't you have thought of that?"

"Or," she stepped a little closer, "did you think you'd be the only one with your particular abilities?"

It was already a great blow that he wasn't in control and had to rely on others at the most important moment of his life without Raven heaping on him too. It was especially hard because everything she said was true.

Sometimes, he suspected that she could forget that he was, no pun intended, only human. None of them would admit it, but they were all looking to him for miracles. Miracles that he wasn't able to materialize, no matter how desperately he wished he could.

Mr. A's voice boomed through the loudspeaker, warning the occupants of the yacht to stand down for the CIA, while he and Raven stood angrily eyeing each other.

A sudden awareness spiked across his mental fields. He blinked at his sister in horror, argument forgotten.

"There's someone in the water. Someone like us."

* * *

><p>He was no longer a face on the map. He wasn't the flat pencil sketch. The Herr Doktor was real and standing before him.<p>

His face, which held a trace of surprise at his entrance, was older. He no longer had glasses, and his hair and clothing were different, modeled in the indolent style of a wealthy businessman on a pleasure trip, but he was still the same.

The Doktor was branded in his memory. He would have known him in any guise.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, the icily beautiful woman at Shaw's side, strode forward. She cocked her head, as though she were listening to something. He did not know what, for he heard only the wash of the ocean and the whispers in his head that urged him to make the final "x."

"He's here to kill you," she stated, voice expressionless even as she moved to stand defensively in front of Shaw and his wet-suit clad body became frozen.

She frowned and he crumpled to the polished deck. His bones felt like glass, sharp and brittle, and seemed to cut him from the inside. He could not stop the small scream of agony that escaped his throat. His self-mastery was never at its best when the Doktor was near.

"Emma," Shaw gently chided. "Not our own kind."

The frown did not leave her face, but his torment eased, until it was a dull throb. He tried to get up, but found that he wasn't able.

As he lay heavily breathing on the deck, he stared up at his creator, desperately fighting the sense of futility he was realizing was at the core of his mission.

_Those who fight monsters should take care that they never become one. For when you stand and look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you._

Was he also a monster? Could he not kill the Doktor because the universe had judged him just as harshly? Were they the same?

Shaw crouched down, bringing them nearly eye-level.

"I've missed you. I've heard all about your exploits. Well, I didn't hear that it was you, but it was obvious. Guns shooting their own owners? Not very subtle, I'm afraid. Effective though."

He smiled, breaking the stream of German, which the gasping man hadn't heard spoken in that voice for so long.

"I'm proud of you, sohn."

The suited man reached out a hand, as though he would pat his head, like he always did when he'd done something impressive. If the Doktor touched him, there was no chance he would survive; his wounds were too deep to sustain that sort of punishment without killing him (and his mission) outright.

"Something's coming," the woman intoned.

From the floor, he watched in a daze as she became a dazzling gem mannequin.

Monsters were everywhere it seemed.

Shaw dropped his hand and stood to look at her, the man on the deck momentarily forgotten.

"What?" Shaw spat.

She did not flinch at the tone, the way that he had seen hardened Nazi soldiers do, but only looked at Shaw impassively.

"The American government. They have a telepath too, but I've blocked him. They'll be here soon though."

No sooner was she finished speaking than a voice rang out through the night.

"Attention, this is the CIA, under the power of the federal government, you are to stand down and submit to boarding."

"Goddamn Fed. Always ruining things just when they're getting good," Shaw whined.

He looked down at his prisoner. A snap from Shaw's finger and the third member of his party, a dark haired man with the features of an American Indian, stood to attention. The Doktor gestured to the intruder.

"Dispose of this."

Without warning, the dark man twisted his wrists and a torrent of air carried him up from the deck and out over the dark waters.

"I'm sure I'll see you again," Shaw called out lazily, and then the group was gone, hidden from his view by his plummet over the side of the yacht.

As he hurtled through the air, his mind was ablaze.

The Herr Doktor had been so close. He'd made it so far; how could it be justified on the scales of fate that his plan was failing? How could they have given the Doktor power he couldn't fight against, not once but twice in his life? First the strength and authority of the Nazis and now, a diamond woman.

When she had turned to stone and the winds had sent him back overboard, he did not believe it.

How was it possible that there were others who shared his curse? What had they done to receive this burden?

Maybe they all just controlled elements, like the water sprites and dragons in the stories his mother had told him so long ago that it seemed like a dream. It would be strangely fitting to find that his entire existence was a long, warped fairytale.

Impact with the solid and cold water shocked his thoughts back to functioning. He told his arms and legs to swim and they did, carrying him back to the surface.

He opened his eyes to the air to see tsunami-like waves racing forward to attack small speedboats, cutting off their progress towards Shaw's ship. The waves only grew taller, reaching for another larger boat in the distance.

He could not let the boat be hit. This was his fight, and while he had lost a battle, he had no intention of losing the war. Others need not be involved.

With renewed determination, he treaded water and grasped his power, searching for something to grab.

What he sensed gave him pause. There was too much metal in the water, far more than the boats could ever contain. He chose not to wonder at this, though, and instead focused on finding an uncomplicated tool.

_Ah, there it was._

One of his rare smiles touched his face.

It was only right that the Herr Doktor enjoy the fruits of his labors.

* * *

><p>He left Raven standing, jaw hanging and sprinted down the stairs to the foredeck where Mr. A stood, bellowing orders and warnings.<p>

"Wait, wait! You have to stop! Sir, there is a person in the water!"

"What?"

The director stopped calling out and spun to face Charles. Raven, whose brain had restarted, came skidding to a halt behind him.

"Sir, there's someone in the water, in the line of conflict, I believe that he's –"

His rushing flow of words dried on the spot as he looked over Mr. A's head to the ocean. Seeing his expression, the other man moved back around. The loudspeaker microphone fell from his limp fingers and dangled inches above the floor.

"Fuck," said Raven quietly.

Well, now he knew who'd let out that particular curse earlier, but Charles found that, for once, he did not care. He was far more concerned about the solid twenty foot high wall of water that was headed directly for them.

* * *

><p>The anchor was perfect, he thought with some satisfaction as he directed the large piece of metal through the yacht's floors and decks. It tore through with a crunch that would have sickened another, but was musical to him.<p>

If he could not destroy the Doktor while both of them were physically present, he would wreck his ship from afar and hope to take the abhorrent captain down with it.

Another floor collapsed, and he heard what sounded like a scream. The vessel was folding in itself, capsizing at a dizzying speed, but he did not feel victorious.

What he felt something large and metallic move under the waves.

Numbness thudded through him, temporarily paralyzing him and the anchor, which he had wielded with such prowess, splashed back into its watery home.

There had been too much metal in the water. He should have remembered that the Doktor never left anything to chance either. Taking a deep breath, he plunged back into the darkness.

* * *

><p>As incredible as the weather had been, the behavior of the anchor was something else entirely. Whoever was directing it had far greater strife with the yacht's passengers than he, or the federal government, did.<p>

It twisted up into the air, chain rattling so loudly that he could hear its creaking, and dove back down. Snakelike and determined, it demolished the large sea craft, sparing no section.

The sounds of destruction wailed around him, but Charles found that he could not be completely horrified by the spectacle, like all of the people around him were.

His thoughts lay instead with the person in the water. The mutant he had felt before the miniature tsunamis had sprung upon them. The mutant who was surely orchestrating this whole anchor show.

Charles knew how using too much of his abilities affected his body. He had pounding headaches and couldn't move for days after he exerted himself too far. And whoever was putting on this display – however strong they were – was over-extending themselves.

Not only that, they were doing so while in rough, wind tossed waters and surrounded by falling wreckage. Either they were suicidal or hadn't clearly thought through their actions because they were consumed by a lust for Shaw's blood. The professor thought that it was probably a combination of both.

Either way, he was not going to let another mutant die on his watch. Not when he'd lost Shaw and found that his powers could be so easily defeated by another of his kind. He slipped away from the crowd at the fore of the ship, which only increased the closer they got to the nightmarish sight, and moved over to the lifeboats at the side.

It was impossible for him to contemplate that much water without feeling distinctly ill, but he could not leave the Anchor-Person to be killed.

Metal spools squeaked as he turned the handle of the safety catch and began to unreel his selected boat into the water. When the boat was at deck level, he swung one of his long legs over the railing, about to climb inside.

A terrible groan shrieked throughout the landscape and with a tremendous crash, the anchor plummeted into the ocean. The whiplash rocked the CIA carrier and the passengers - trained law enforcement officials - clung together to keep their footing.

Charles did not even spare a moment to be concerned about his precarious one-legged perch.

A screaming voice echoed in his synapses, leaving no room for other thoughts. The mutant in the water was dying.

The first piece of clothing to fall was his light windbreaker Raven had insisted he wear to keep out the damp. Second were his oiled leather boots. Third were his socks. He didn't bother disrobing more. He only needed free feet and arms.

"Charles! What do you think you're doing?"

He almost didn't respond to Moira's cry, but he didn't want to worry his friends excessively.

"Going for a swim. Be a love and pick me up by that mess of what was formerly an operating boat."

"Get your ass back here!" Raven called out, fear and anger in her voice, but he was already over the edge and falling into the water.

The water hid her wordless scream of terror from his ears, but Charles felt it all the same. He pushed it from his mind, the same way he struggled to suppress his own crippling fear. There was no time for his phobia. The life of the other mutant slipped more away every second.

He struck out, loathing the sensation of wetness sliding over his skin, but forcing it away. The telepath didn't have any spare attention to give his own feelings because by the time he'd crossed the twenty yards that separated him from his quarry, the former's mental projections had become so strong that Charles' mind didn't have room for anything else.

Frantically, he sorted through the images flooding into him, getting a sense of what he now knew to be a man, who was hidden in the depths.

He, who had never known real hardship, learned what it was to suffer at the hands of other human beings. What it felt like to have everything torn from him. The pain of having nothing left.

Nothing save for a piece of paper showing the globe, flattened and distorted, and a small sea of faces. And the determination that he would not lose the reality of a small pencil drawing again.

There were many more memories and thoughts surging past like the melting rush of rivers in the spring, but Charles did not stop to examine them. He had what he needed.

His lungs filled with life sustaining air, and he let himself drop willingly into the one place he feared more than any other. A few feet down and his palms made contact with the hard edges of another body. Light had forsaken this place and he could see nothing. He gripped the resting place his hand had found and felt the rounded outline of bones and muscles, the tips of a joint socket. A shoulder then.

The mind that so overwhelmed his own jumped in shock at the touch and the crushing flow of thoughts slowed somewhat.

Good. Maybe he would listen now.

"You have to let it go. You'll die."

"Are you in my mind?"

Charles would have laughed if anyone else had asked such an obvious (and inappropriate given the situation) question, but the deep voice in his mind was solemn and serious to such a degree that he answered in kind.

"Yes. And I'm sorry, but you have to let it go. We're both going to die if you don't."

"Both going to die? You're really here? Real?"

Charles squeezed the shoulder and when he felt the pressure, the other man's mentality accepted the reality of his being there.

"Why would you die too?"

His voice was so brittle and hurt sounding, that the professor couldn't stop his mind before it answered honestly.

"Because I'm not going to leave you, Erik. I've been looking for you for a long time."

He was taken aback at his own answer, but it was nothing compared to the wonder filling the other man.

* * *

><p><em>Erik.<em> My name. Erik. _My name_. He called my name.

The thoughts repeated endlessly in his head. He didn't know if the invisible man could hear them. He couldn't find it in himself to care if he did.

No one had called him by name since the camps. He rarely thought of himself as a name in his own mind.

He thought that the part of him named Erik had died a long time ago with his mother. But this man said his name, and suddenly, he found that it had not.

Erik was he. He was Erik.

He was Erik and he wanted to live.

Live and kill Shaw another day.

The cold rage that he used to access his abilities fled from him, and his connection to the stealth submarine snapped. It disappeared into the unknowable future.

Well, not entirely unknowable because he knew two things about it for a fact. The facts sang in his blood and bound themselves to his bones like an oath.

He knew that he would be the one to kill Sebastian Shaw.

He knew that this mystery man's help was the key for him do it, but that help would come at a steep price.

Erik didn't know what the price would be; only that he would find it nearly impossible to pay it.

The grip on his shoulder weakened, and he realized that his strange savior hadn't said anything since his name. The man must be nearly unconscious from lack of oxygen.

What was an inexperienced swimmer doing paddling straight into the hell this place surely was?

He didn't waste time wondering and his strong legs moved once more, ferrying them to the surface.

They broke into the air, spattering water in their exit from the deep and Erik released the other man as his eyes fluttered open and he gasped in hoarsely of his own volition.

* * *

><p>Under the dim canopy of the night and the interfering bob of the waves, he couldn't make out much of his companion's face, but Charles thought that he was probably handsome. Why this should matter to him, he did not know, and thus dismissed it. Near death and lack of oxygen was detrimental even to mental facilities as great as his own.<p>

He spied one of the speed boats rushing towards them, its light guiding its search through the debris. Excellent, he wouldn't have to float for long.

Still savoring his one triumph in a night of defeat, he smiled at the human shaped blob next to him and brought up a hand. If what'd he'd seen of the man's psyche was any indication, Charles was sure that he'd be looking at his hand strangely, possibly suspiciously.

"I don't believe that I told you who I am. Charles Xavier, at your service, sir."

A larger, rougher, and colder hand engulfed his. Charles could feel the ridges left by over exposure to water in the man's hand pressing into his skin. They were shockingly deep. Good God, was this guy part fish? How had he been so long in the water?

Slowly, the other man pumped his hand.

"Charles," he rumbled, voice accented with Germanic notes, "Erik Lehnsherr. Pleased to meet you."

* * *

><p><strong>Ha ha, I told you they would meet. See the last line of this mega length chapter? Like what I did there? Eh, eh? *elbow nudge*<strong>

**I don't know about you, but I can't wait for Chapter Five when they look at each other naked... (Am I kidding? Am I serious? You'll never know, unless of course, you review).**

**So, yeah, Happy Father's Day to all of you and thanks for making the Papa of this fic proud with your response!**


	5. Questions

**Questions**

* * *

><p>As he floated in the moving water, the newly renamed Erik did not speak.<p>

The distant light of the stars trickled down to him through the haze of the atmosphere and smoking ruins of Shaw's yacht. He focused his thoughts on them, scanning the unreachable gas giants for recognizable arrangements.

Once upon a time, he had loved astronomy and the myths that surrounded it, purely for the pleasure it brought. More recently, he had relied on his knowledge of celestial directions for navigation in places wild and uncharted.

Now though, he used the stars as a funnel for his thoughts. If the mystery man – Charles Xavier, he reminded himself – had some sort of power that enabled him to not only locate Erik from an unspecified distance, but also enter his mind and examine his memories, since there was no other way he could have learned his name, then he wasn't going to think about anything important when they were this close.

Erik was bitterly disappointed, exhausted, and keenly aware of heavy fatigue settling into his muscles, but his intellect had been tempered in far hotter flames than these concerns; he could control himself and ponder only inconsequential things until there was some distance between himself and Charles Xavier.

A soft laugh reached his ears.

"Stars are lovely tonight, aren't they? It's remarkable that I can see them at all."

The man's voice belonged to drawing rooms and echoing halls floored in rich woods. Erik knew the sound of wealth when he heard it. His unseen companion may have had a name now, but he was still a mystery so far as Erik was concerned.

Curiosity was easily suppressed though, and he did not ask any of those more intriguing questions like how or why, but he did ask the most pressing – the what. He had to know exactly how far this man's powers extended.

"Reading my mind?"

Again, the gentle laughter came. Charles flopped a hand up out of the water and back down in a tired, aborted gesture like a wave.

"I barely have the energy to keep myself above water, let alone do any mind-reading. Merely trying to make some conversation while we wait for our rescue. I'm a horrible chatterer that way."

He stopped for a moment, like he was waiting for Erik to say something, but the other man stayed silent.

If Charles Xavier thought he was going to speak again, he was to be sorely disappointed.

Erik had sufficient information for the moment; the comment had been only coincidence, the other man's powers needed to be supported by his body's energy, similar, he supposed, to his own abilities, and he was soft, like his hands, if he gave out information about his weaknesses so easily.

An unthinkable urge to laugh welled up inside of his chest; what kind of person trusted someone he couldn't even see?

_The same type of person that would jump into the water to save that very person_, a corner of his mind supplied.

He brushed it off. In both cases, Charles Xavier had behaved stupidly.

It occurred to Erik that he might have to remain close at hand if he was going to keep his rescuer alive as a tool in his fight against Shaw. Internally, he cursed. There went any idea of leaving now and returning for the man at a later date.

Another unfamiliar feeling grew in him – the urge to sigh.

* * *

><p>Whose idea had it been to make the ocean so damned cold?<p>

Charles knew that it certainly hadn't been his. He would have to have a word with whomever had made the decision; they ought to have been more considerate.

That went double for his friends, who were taking a horrendously long time to find them.

Shouting for attention hadn't worked, and he'd given it up once it became clear that he couldn't be heard over the sounds of the falling debris. He had tried to reach out telepathically to Moira or Raven to guide their search, but he couldn't hold on to a mental connection; every one that he tried to make slid from him like oiled silk. As it was, he was having a time of it keeping his head above water and ignoring the creeping fear that was beginning to grow up his spine like an insidious vine.

There was nothing for it but to wait. In a bid to distract himself, he attempted to strike up a conversation with Erik. He seized a topic at random, choosing the stars, which had been especially bright this evening (even if their illumination wasn't enough for him to actually _see_ the other mutant).

He laughed. Goodness, he was going to sound so flippant with this remark. _Oh well, here I go._

"Stars are lovely tonight, aren't they? It's remarkable that I can see them at all."

_Since I certainly can't see you_, he continued mentally in frustrated curiosity. Charles had a driving need to know everything at all times, and it bothered him that he hadn't yet gotten a look at the man – another of his kind.

The light current of water that hit Charles' leg as Erik treaded water, slowed. He was immediately concerned. He couldn't have the gentleman drown before he even got to know him!

"Reading my mind?" was the clipped response.

_What?_

All worries about the possibility of either of them drowning fled from Charles.

Erik had been thinking about _stars_? At a time like this? Who _did_ that?

He was dying to speak to this man properly. That had to wait though, Charles realized as he considered the implications of the question. It was natural that Erik would be alarmed at his abilities; he had, after all, appeared rather fantastically in his head.

Flapping his hand weakly, Charles waved it like he was ushering the words away and adopted his most reassuring tones.

"I barely have the energy to keep myself above water, let alone do any mind-reading. Merely trying to make some conversation while we wait for our rescue. I'm a horrible chatterer that way."

Which was mostly true; Charles didn't chatter generally speaking, but there were times when the urge hit him. Judging by his tongue's current itch, apparently life-or-death situations were one of them.

He waited, ready for Erik to ask for clarification or more about what he could do, but the expected questions were not forthcoming.

Charles was mildly startled that the other mutant didn't want more information, since he himself desperately wanted to know more about Erik's affinity for metal, but it dawned on him that perhaps it was arrogant of him to assume that Erik would want to know about his abilities.

_What if he doesn't even know that he is a mutant?_

The notion put something of a wrench in his plans for further conversation and Charles opted for quiet as well, letting the matter drop. There would be plenty of time for discussion on their way back to base.

Base, where they had to regroup and continue to pursue Shaw; he was clearly holding other mutants in servitude, or cahoots, and a more serious threat than any of them had previously understood.

He cast an eye at the man-shaped patch of darkness next to him and the picture of an anchor shrieking through a yacht with astounding intent sprang to his mind; more serious than any of _his_ party had understood, he amended.

Desire to get out of his prison of wetness and begin mapping his next move gave Charles a second wave of energy and he moved his legs with renewed force, elevating his face higher above the water and making it easier to breathe.

Soon, however, his body was simply too tired and this strength left him too. His thoughts worryingly turned again to the sinking possibility of drowning.

Ha, _sinking._ He really was a funny fellow…

Roaring erupted from the water directly behind him and the professor spun about, blinking his eyes against the stinging halogen halo of the searchlight.

"Charles! Charles! You complete ass!" screamed a voice whose tone assured him he would not hear the end of scolding for several days yet.

"Raven! Shush. Let's save his life before you kill him, alright?"

Moira's voice floated out, tinged with exasperated, but still calm. Charles knew very well how hysterical his sister could be, and he idly thought that Moira should be nominated for sainthood for not pushing her overboard by now.

He winced, and as the boat backed up and repositioned itself beside them, he addressed the blocky form of other man. "My sister," he said by way of explanation. "I apologize in advance for her theatrics."

The blob made a noncommittal noise, which Charles chose to take as a confirmation and acceptance of his preemptive contrition.

Rope rungs rolled into the water before his face. With stiffened fingers, he grasped the ladder's edge in his right hand. He gestured to Erik with his left, "After you."

* * *

><p>His every instinct screamed against it, but Erik swam to the ladder and climbed up before Charles.<p>

Exposing his back thusly could very well end with him as a bloated, abandoned corpse in the water, but he had lived this long by trusting his instincts and his instincts said that Charles Xavier wouldn't attack him - he was too much of a milksop.

On the third rung, he felt the ladder drop with the addition of another's weight; it appeared his savior was eager to be out of the ocean, despite his chivalry.

Erik moved a little faster. In seconds, he gripped the edge of the small craft, and pulled himself over it and into the boat in one smooth motion.

He stood very still and surveyed the two women and one man aboard with cool eyes. None of them moved, all waiting for Charles to appear.

Which he obligingly did in the next breath. The crown of his head peeked into view above the rim of the starboard side first. Erik was unsurprised to discover that he had a messy, unkempt mop of hair; it matched the inexperience he'd heard in Charles' voice.

The boarding passenger kept his head down as he concentrated on reaching the safety of the boat, so Erik did not see his face fully, only its round cheeked side and the curving tips of its ears. Thin limbs unfolded, bringing the man close to home. As he swung his final leg over the side, however, he overbalanced and tipped backwards.

One of the women gasped, but Erik's arm shot out, without his conscious consent, and dragged Charles to him by the shirt. Two buttons popped off in his hold and pinged to the floor, but he didn't notice, intent as he was on keeping the slightly swaying man upright. His other arm came up and braced Charles' shoulder, steadying him.

Erik didn't think that physically aiding Charles was supposed to be his task, but since no one else was moving, and he was the closest, he supposed that he might as well. He needed the man.

"Alright?" he asked gruffly, losing his hold on Charles' shoulders.

"Yes, quite – thank you. I didn't much fancy another dip."

At that, the younger girl with hair the color of sun bleached wheat sprang across the small space to launch herself at Charles, who looked as though he could barely keep himself upright at the moment, let alone hold another person.

Erik found his arm outstretched a second time, catching the girl across the chest and holding her away from the mystery man. This girl must be the sister he'd been warned about. She certainly looked the picture of fratricidal concern and fury with her snapping eyes and reddened cheeks.

"And just who the hell are you?" she hissed like an angry alley cat.

He looked back at her with dead-eyed calm. Cats didn't bristle at him for long.

"I wouldn't go through the trouble of keeping him up here just for you to push him back over."

"I wasn't gonna-" she began to protest, but then she stopped.

Her blue eyes flicked to her brother, actually taking stock, and she seemed to then agree with his assertion because she stepped back with an indignant huff and a mutter about nursemaids. Erik ignored it. No good would come of responding.

Charles murmured a nearly inaudible _thank you_ and sank wearily to the boat's bench seat. He patted the space next to him in compromise and the girl settled into it after she shot Erik another glare for good measure. Fine by him. He didn't need her, or anyone.

"Come sit here, please," said the second woman, gesturing to the bench on her side.

She was tall and pale with dark auburn hair and large eyes that should have been liquid and soft in a face such as hers, but were instead sharp and commanding. Something metallic flashed on the cloth near her collarbone and he inspected the area closely. A small pin on her dark lapel identified her as CIA.

Erik sat as she had asked, not wishing for any more conflict. American government agents need not pay any more attention to him than was necessary. Besides, it wasn't as though he was going to be able to swim himself back to shore in this condition.

When he was seated, she gave the command to the man at the controls and they started back towards the carrier. Since the cut of the motor blades against the water and the sound of the engine were too loud to make conversation worthwhile, the passengers all sat unspeaking.

Erik took the opportunity to observe them all and catalogue them into his index of faces.

First, he examined briefly the man at the motor, but quickly dismissed him as a grunt. No one who would challenge him or whom he would most likely see again. Though, as a precaution, he did memorize the man's average, plain face.

Next up, was the female directly across from him. The blonde sister of his rescuer had a round face that held clinging traces of childhood, but beneath her tan trench coat, her body was thin and mature. He supposed that she was an older teen.

Her mouth pouted and her blue eyes dared anyone to attempt talking to her. Tightly crossed, her arms were like a shield blocking any sort of reasonableness. A teenager for sure then.

It appeared from the fiery looks she cast his way, that Charles Xavier would be forced to suffer her anger as a punishment for whatever he had done to upset her; Erik hoped he would not be forced to listen to what would undoubtedly be an infantile conversation.

Third, he looked at the agent surreptitiously, and only long enough that he could memorize her features as well. Once he knew a face, he would recognize it. If ever the CIA sent her to interfere with his mission, this woman would be no help to them. She would be a hindrance; a warning cry that told him to escape.

The only exceptional observation he made about her was the way her fingers tapped upon her lap, full of nervous energy, as she watched his erstwhile rescuer sitting on the other side of the boat. So, she was someone guided by feelings and became emotionally invested into her work. He filed away the knowledge for further review.

His gaze came to rest at last on the most engrossing member of the party – Charles Xavier, enterer of minds.

In the light of the boat's lantern, he did not appear as impressive as his firm presence in Erik's thoughts while they were under the water had indicated. He looked _boyish_, with an honest unlined face and relaxed body language (it was clear to Erik that he was unconcerned, relieved to be reunited with and riding on the boat with his friends.)

Only the slight graying in the front of his hair at the peak of his forehead and the preternatural intelligence in his wide blue eyes evidenced that he was not the child he seemed.

Curiosity as to what exactly the man was doing out here sparked in Erik yet again, but still, he did not indulge it. Charles was more naïve than he thought himself and Erik was sure that all would be revealed sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, patience was a virtue and he could be a virtuous man – if it suited his objectives.

* * *

><p>The lush, padded seats of the airplane felt lovely as Charles sank back into them with a small sigh. His buring, aching body was soothed somewhat at the contact. <em>Bless Mr. A and his connections to owners of private, commandeer-able aircraft<em>, he thought in silent gratitude.

Charles had never flown in a plane that was set up like a living room, with chairs grouped about the space rather than straight-lined aisles. His family had had a personal plane, for his step-father's business needs, but it'd been a traditional set-up and he had sold it at his parents' death. This was a new, and not unpleasant, experience for him. It seemed there _was_ a silver lining to the cloud of governmental entanglement.

He closed his eyes, savoring the slow ease of his pains. Who knew swimming would tax his muscles to this extent?

Probably everyone in this plane could have told him that, he reflected, somewhat amused. Among his companions, there wasn't a single one who was inexperienced with physical exertion; Moira and Mr. A had the training of the military, Raven had been a scavenger on the run for the first nine years of her life, and Erik, well, Charles was pretty sure he was some sort of machine.

A very quite machine.

One that hadn't said much of anything beyond curt introductions once they'd been picked up from the wreckage site and taken to the main ship.

Normally, the professor would have fought to break that silence (his tenacity in getting people to talk to him was one of the reasons he made an excellent investigator), but he thought of the memories that had streamed from Erik's mind and the line of numbers he'd seen inside his forearm when they changed from their wet clothes into spare, dry maintenance uniforms, and left him alone.

If Erik didn't trust people, he had excellent reasons for it.

Charles thought he was rather like Raven when he'd first found her scrounging in his kitchen; she'd been a half-starved wild thing, who had hidden her humanity from herself in a bid for self-preservation. His stomach clenched when he thought of the stories that she had told him about her life then; a life full of hatred and horror.

That sort of pain never entirely went away, of course, but with time and patience it could be eased. The young woman's laughter tinkled up from the rear of the seating area as she spoke with Mr. A, who looked at her with a fatherly fondness. Charles smiled a bit to himself.

Yes, it took time, but it could definitely be done.

A shadow passed over him, temporarily blocking the glow of the lighting tracks and he heard a small hiss of air escape from a seat cushion as another body settled into the swivel chair across him.

"Afternoon, Moira. Coming to warn me about something?"

He heard a small shake in the seat as Moira started, startled.

_How did he know? Oh, nevermind,_ her thoughts crossly said.

His chuckle was low in his throat and escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just so funny having people that know."

He finally opened his eyes to meet her steady regard. Charles heaved a small sigh. There was no distracting her when she'd decided upon a course of action.

"Hilarious," she drily intoned.

"Charles," she continued, all traces of humor dropped from her voice, "I know you want to help him, and I think it's very noble of you, but you need to be careful with your new friend. I've seen men like that before, murderers all - but never one with eyes as cold as his."

He looked at her curiously, wanting more explanation, but not really needing it. He could already almost see what she meant.

MacTaggert stopped, groping for the words to express her feeling, "Cold like you could shoot his mother point-blank in front of him and he wouldn't so much as blink."

Charles was the one to be startled now, as her slowly stated sentence seeped into his ears and connected to a memory from the drowning mind he had seen with clarity – Erik's most vivid.

A woman's beloved voice promising that everything would be alright, followed by a gunshot, and a primal scream.

Uncomfortable, he cleared his throat; really, the agent could be oddly prescient.

"Perceptive, as always, but I think you're wrong Moira."

She started to protest, but he held up his long-fingered hand to silence her.

"I won't disregard what you've said, and should the time ever come, I will welcome your 'I told you so,' but in the meanwhile, let's agree to disagree."

Her eyes were unreadable for a moment, and Charles was surprised to find that she was holding her thoughts, which were usually open, into herself, but her expression soon cleared and she shrugged her narrow, navy-clothed shoulders.

"You want to see the best in everyone; it's going to get you hurt. But I've done my friend duty and warned you. There'll be no crying to me when he breaks your heart."

_Break my heart?_

Charles had no idea, for once, what Moira was on about, but she did not look as though she was going to explain further. In fact, her hands were poised on her armrests and she was leveraging herself out of the chair across from him.

"Not so fast," he ordered, stretching his hands out to arrest her progress, but she was too quick for him.

With a closed-mouth smile, MacTaggert stepped gracefully out of his reach and went to join Mr. A and Raven at the back of the cabin.

Raven was still angry with him for "recklessly and idiotically" endangering his life and had decided since yelling wasn't doing the trick, she was not going to speak to him until he'd learned a lesson. Apparently, not speaking also included sitting as far away from him as any vehicle they'd boarded would allow and attempting to keep Mr. A and MacTaggert from him as well.

He was sure that Moira would be badgered half-to-death for her short conversation with him. But then again, the two government personnel were upset with him too, and since they couldn't really formulate any sort of plans without the research resources of Mr. A's facility, they didn't protest his exclusion overmuch.

_Well, that's fine by me if they all want to behave like children_, Charles silently fumed. He had done the right thing, and even if they didn't like his methods, they couldn't possibly argue with the results – Erik was the answer to finding Shaw, he could _feel_ it.

Frustrated, he cradled his forehead in his hand, feeling a grueling headache coming on. He shouldn't have tried to look into Moira's mind when he wasn't fully recovered from last night's exertion.

As he sat like that, willing the pain to subside, he sensed rather than saw someone approach and take the seat opposite him again.

"Moira, I really don't want to row with you too. Can't we drop it?"

"That explains why you've been banished to the front of the plane."

Charles' head snapped up at the unexpected sound of a deep masculine voice. Greenish eyes flashed with amusement at his obvious reaction, but no accompanying expression touched the face beneath them.

"You couldn't sense that it was me? Interesting. You must have a slow recovery time."

Erik tapped the side of his slickly coiffed head with one elegant finger, indicating his meaning. His tone was conversational, as though he and Charles chatted regularly. It was a strange change of tactic, and made the professor feel as though he were unevenly footed.

No matter if he had defended Erik mere minutes earlier, Charles wasn't blinded where the other mutant was concerned. The telepath had seen the fierce, ruthless cleverness in his mind, and he was not interested in being manipulated by anyone. Particularly not someone who needed his genuine help and not some sort of strange mock-up of an association.

"Recovery is dependent on a person's natural resiliency, to a certain extent, but also on the environment in which it occurs. A trail of international intrigue is hardly conducive to one's health," he responded pleasantly, not really answering the question.

What could have been a smile shifted over Erik's lips, as though he recognized the evasion and found it pleasing.

"International intrigue? Professor Xavier, has anyone ever told you that you read too many novels?"

"Charles," he returned, choosing not to inquire as to how Erik had determined him to be a professor, "and yes, constantly. I never listen. Novels of today are the literature of tomorrow."

"I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets," intoned the other voice, laced with hints of Germany.

He didn't bother to stifle the grin that touched his face; suddenly he understood far more about Erik than he believed the metal-bender had intended to reveal.

Victory made him generous, and he leaned forward, still smiling.

"Walton was always my favorite; youthful passion and enthusiasm, but the wisdom and grace to stand down. Would you like a drink?"

Solemnly, Erik considered him for a moment, before he slowly nodded, "Ja."

Body protesting the move, Charles relinquished his well padded perch and winced his way over to the walnut wet bar. He ignored Raven's pointed look and head toss, and busied himself rummaging in the cabinet underneath the stone counter.

Crowing in triumph, he seized upon an excellent, aged scotch and poured two fingers of the shining amber into each of the two squat glasses he'd unearthed.

"The American government certainly knows how to bully the right people," he told the waiting Erik with a wink as he passed him a drink and reclaimed his seat.

"Sometimes," was the vague reply.

Charles waited, satisfied and sure that this time he would get more of a response from his taciturn partner. Seemingly unconcerned, he swirled his glass and watched the miniature whirlpool in the liquid lap the edges of its container.

Appreciatively, he took a sip and savored the slight burn as the liquor flowed down his throat. Erik drank as well and the two of them sat in silence as the afternoon sun filtered in through the round-edged rectangular windows and cast everything in an orangish glow. The murmur of the rest of the group's conversation was muted and seemed to come from far away.

"There are those who think Walton flawed, a coward."

The edges of the professor's mouth curled upward again; there Erik went, as if on cue, breaking the quiet like Charles knew he would.

After all, Frankenstein's monster hadn't been able to resist the draw of human companionship, either.

* * *

><p><strong>I know what some of you may be thinking, "This author is a liar! They did not see each other naked!" <strong>

**And to that, I reply, that they did. If you look at Charles reflecting as he sits down, you'll see that they got changed from their wet clothes together. I just didn't write it all out because it would have just been guys changing; there isn't sexual tension making it fun yet! **

**But soon, lovelies, soon...**

**Speaking of soon, I have a challenge for you all. As of posting, this fic is at 72 reviews (which is made of amazing!), but I'm throwing down the gauntlet; if I reach 100 reviews at this chapter, I will either:**

** A. write out that naked scene, but make it steamy in a separate one-shot**

**or B. have the next update out with 8,000 words (which is sooo long)**

**The option included in the most reviews wins. The choice is yours! Voting opens now! :] **


	6. Ruminiations

Warning: This chapter contains some mention of sex (both consensual and not). Nothing explicit, but I thought I should warn you.

* * *

><p><strong>Ruminations<strong>

* * *

><p>As their aircraft flew out of the banked clouds and broke into clear skies, the afternoon light blazed into the windows and glared about the cabin. He felt a tingling ache anywhere it touched his exposed skin. He longed to strip himself of his vulnerable outer organ and curl up in the protection of his muscles and mental might. He longed for darkness. It was an unsettling sensation, even for his high tolerance threshold.<p>

True, he had never exactly enjoyed daylight, preferring to operate in the safe cloak of night, which he felt to be his element, but he hadn't had a reaction to it since he'd painstakingly made his way from the liberation of his camp by uncouth, too-late Americans, to Berlin, the ruined city where he began gathering information for his mission, with his pallid skin roasting the entire way.

Erik considered the uncomfortable prickle of his flesh, thinking of possible causes. Perhaps his time in heat-drenched South America had resurfaced his sensitivity. Or, his skin could have been tingling because he hadn't yet given himself any time to recover from the past week.

Erik knew from pushing himself beyond his capabilities for most of his life, that eventually, when he had really gone too far, his exhaustion would manifest itself in strange ways, like false sensory information or a skittering blackness that would dance in the corners of his vision. It was a constant frustration that his body could not push on perpetually like the machines he channeled his power through, but ignoring it would only make it worse. Conceding what felt like defeat, he admitted that he needed to sleep, and soon.

He had no desire to revisit the memories that frenzied in his mind when he no longer had the energy to hold them at bay.

Furrowing his brow, he shifted in his seat, hoping to find a more comfortable position. It was safe enough to nap here. Charles Xavier had been claimed by sleep some time ago, in the middle of a long, drawn-out explanation about the flaws in current evolutionary theory. Erik assumed that he had had a point, something he was leading up to, but lost it in the glasses of scotch and weariness on his face.

But that was alright, he hadn't minded the speech, soaking in facts that he hadn't already been drilled on by the Doktor or come across in his own readings. Charles, with his unusual mix of characteristics and extreme intelligence, was interesting. Erik found that his typical apathy was hard to maintain when the other man was so skillful at drawing people into his web.

A large part of his draw had to stem from his experience with reading into the deepest parts of all kinds of people and the insight which it gave him – Erik knew that. But there was also something about Charles Xavier that called out to others; in the way he spoke, and moved, and looked at every person he interacted with as though they were his sole focus.

What it was couldn't really be defined, but the closest approximation he could find was kindness. Erik believed that there could be some kindness in human beings – the boy who quietly gave him a handkerchief as he sat bleeding in an alley after one of his first "X"s or the American GIs who had busted into his earthen cell after the Herr Doktor had made his escape and left his creation, deemed expendable when it came to saving his own life first, behind.

But Erik also knew kind acts were prompted by outside forces, rather than the dispenser's benevolence alone – the boy had solemnly told Erik he was like a saint, who had given a beggar half of his cloak, and was now closer to Jesus in Heaven, and the GIs hadn't come to Germany because they cared about the plight of his people. The ones who loosed him from his prison had kept a wary distance, unnerved by his intense stare, not knowing what he was (a Nazi? Insane? A 'special' boy?), and when he had slipped away in the confusion, no one noticed.

In his experience, the nature of kindness was fleeting, leaving on pettily stomping feet once it felt slighted. Somehow, though, the lightly snoring professor seemed different. Goodness clung to him leech-like; gorging itself into fat round dots as it sustained itself on Charles' essence, drawing it out through tiny wounds on his skin, and bursting all over innocent bystanders at the slightest provocation.

He had been with the man for hours during extreme circumstances, when most people could not afford the energy to hide their true natures, and in that time, he hadn't witnessed anything from Charles Xavier but kindness.

Feeling the cry of a mind in trouble, he had struck-out into dangerous waters to save it.

He had insisted that Erik be the first rescued, although it was clear he had little love for ocean.

Erik watched him accept with stoicism the punishment of the sister he looked at with so much love, wanting her to feel some small degree of assurance in her ability to affect him, even if she couldn't change his mind.

How he bore the silence of his friends beatifically, not showing the way their sham rejection pained him or hammering home their wrongness.

Even now, he slept in the presence of a foreign government, lowering his guards without the slightest care - Charles did not realize how dangerous he was. It had probably never occurred to him that people cared far more about their minds being exposed than they did about metal objects moving without their consent; and that power alone had taken Erik's life to an entirely new level of misery. He hadn't been able to die with his family, and instead had had to face the daily torture of the Doktor's laboratory. His power, measly in comparison with telepathy, ensured that his life was marked by separation and fear.

If Charles Xavier kept up in his messianic penchant for self-sacrifice, the man was going to be long dead by the time they found Shaw.

Thinking about it agitated him and made the burn of the sun fiercer. Annoyed, he uncrossed his legs and leaned further back into the red cushions surrounding him, closing his eyes abruptly.

Behind his eyelids, the colors of the sun still burned through; yellow, red, and orange swirled, making rest impossible. The single coin in his pocket began to strain against its fabric cage. With heavy fingers he tamped it down. Erik pulled air into his nose and pushed it slowly out of his mouth. He _had_ to calm himself.

The colors ceased their spin and faded into cool tones; still fire hued, but muted. Respite was welcome, but the faint whir and snap of a shade told him that someone was near, and he hadn't sensed their approach.

As abruptly as they had closed, his eyes opened more sharply still, startling the young woman who was leaning over Charles. Finished with the window covering by the slumbering passenger, she took a tiny step back.

"Oh," she whispered, "sorry to wake you. I thought maybe a nap would be better without all this light. Honestly, I don't know how he even fell asleep in all this."

She fluttered her hand, indicating Charles and the sun-drenched cabin, which Erik noticed had half its shades drawn. Kindness. What could be the girl's motive?

"He expended much energy," Erik offered in his cold voice.

"I know that! Don't talk down to me," the girl responded in furious whisper. "I'm just trying to be friendly, okay? Because it looks like he's taken you on and where he goes, I go. I'm mad at him, and I'm mad at you for whatever it is about you that called him into being such a dumbass, but I'm going to be mature and get over it."

Her face had turned rather red, and Erik uneasily judged that she was on the verge of hysteria. Females were foreign creatures to him; his experience of any depth was limited to his mother and she had never been one for anger.

He was considering the best course of action to gain the girl's cooperation when her right eye lost its blue hue and turned smoky chartreuse. Blue flesh flashed at her shoulder, but both it and the otherworldly eye disappeared in a blink.

Air shuddered through her lips and she turned away.

"Stop," was his quiet command. "You are a mutant as well?"

The back before him expanded and contracted with her breathing. "Yes."

It was one syllable, uttered low, but it changed everything. He understood now.

Why they clung together. Why Charles didn't buckle down on her spoiled behavior. Why they both seemed to take for granted that he was their ally.

"When did you meet your _brother_ here?"

The look she turned back to give him was not a nice one at all, but she answered the question nevertheless.

"Thirteen years ago. Charles figures I was about nine. I'm not really sure myself. It isn't like anyone keeps track of a blue baby's birthday."

She was older than he had initially thought. Interesting.

And for such a tiny girl, her voice held much bitterness. Bitterness he understood; Jews didn't have birthdays either.

"One would think it would be a difficult event to forget," he told her, pondering monsters and their many methods of creation. Some, like him, were made. But others, it seemed, were born.

She smiled a bit, as though he had told a joke. Which he supposed he had, albeit a black and unintended one.

"You would think. Charles has never been forgotten, not really, but he can empathize. We have a party every year for my birthday. I picked the American holiday, Thanksgiving."

"It seems that your debts are great," Erik returned after a small silence.

The girl was devoted to Charles Xavier, that he did not doubt, but there was lingering unhappiness in her, something that the napping man could not understand. But Erik could. All too well.

She shrugged her small shoulders, making her long blonde curls bounce. Erik was curious about her true appearance, but said nothing. Rushing monsters never turned out well.

Her eyes were equal parts sadness and affection as she gazed down at Charles.

"He's the best man I've ever known. Probably the best I ever will. If it's to him, I don't mind owing my life. But there are things that no matter how many vicarious lives he lives, he can't fully understand."

Erik did not know the professor beyond what his own perceptions had said, but he thought that the girl was right.

"Raven," he said, using her name for the first time, a name which he suspected Charles had given her, maybe the same way he'd re-given Erik his, "you were right about it being too bright in here."

She nodded, like she heard what was beneath his words, and smiled, "I always am."

She moved away from him then and he let her go, watching as she lowered the remaining shades and took her seat.

Inside his chest something he hadn't noticed was clenched eased.

It was a relief to know he was not the only beast here.

* * *

><p>Beneath his feet, the floor seemed to jump, jolting him from sleep and he responded instinctively with a little leap of surprise. He lost contact with his seat and swiveled his head around wildly, trying to locate the source of the disturbance.<p>

A seat away, Erik met his search with a slightly raised eyebrow. "The pilot's opened the landing gear," he informed Charles and then lapsed back into silence.

"Right, right," the professor muttered with hot cheeks, busying himself moving his arm out around his body and bending his elbow to check his leather-banded watch.

"Six-thirty on the mark. We've made good time, don't you think? I do hope Mr. A has his boys waiting with dinner though, I'm starving."

Almost imperceptibly, Erik stiffened. Charles felt the previously gentle buzz in the back of his head that was the other man's presence harden as well.

Oh, dear, what had he said?

Then it hit him – starving. Streaming images of hollow cheeked people moving like zombies formed in his mind, and he hastily backtracked.

"Not starving, obviously. Just hungry. Plain old hungry," he prattled, hoping that he wouldn't lose what progress they'd made at the start of their air travel.

"I'm hungry too, Professor."

Erik lifted up the drink that he still somehow had (was it the fourth or the fifth round when he'd fallen asleep?) and lifted it in cheers.

"Here's to hoping," he said and drained the glass as the plane's wheels touched the runway. His thoughts resumed humming, and Charles relaxed slightly, enjoying the feeling.

Mr. A breezed by, going to the exit.

"Look alive boys," he called, "We've got tons of work ahead of us, I hope you took advantage of this rest!"

Empty and disgruntled, Charles' stomach rumbled loudly. The science facility director chuckled, "Dinner comes with good behavior. Let's get going."

_That level of glee should be illegal_, Charles decided and looked at Erik aghast. The German only shrugged; he could always wait to eat. Charles groaned. It seemed he was in for a long night.

* * *

><p>The next morning, he opened his eyes, groaning still. It had been a very long night indeed, filled with reluctant information pooling (he knew stones that were more loquacious than Erik when it came to subject of Sebastian Shaw) and plan after plan that fell flat as soon as they were proposed.<p>

"Erik, really? Must you count that loudly? Cannot I sleep for once?"

With his feet tucked beneath the edge of bed in the room he and Charles were sharing in the base's housing wing and his hands curled around his head, Erik had a guilty expression (or what passed for an expression on his stone face) for a heartbeat, but then quickly disregarded Charles and restarted his sit-ups.

"You've had plenty of sleep if you can hear me counting inside my head," Erik said reasonably.

_Oh_. Charles hadn't noticed that he was hearing the sounds telepathically, and not with his ears. He hadn't failed to recognize the distinction between his senses since he was a child. It was strange and he didn't know how he could have confused the two.

Dragging himself to a sitting position and leaning back against his headboard, the now thoroughly awake Charles considered several theories.

A simple explanation would be that he'd been even more deeply asleep than usual and the numbers had burrowed in like a physical sensation, mixing up his brain's signals. It was plausible, considering how drained he was after his trip to Miami.

A more complex answer was that his mind was sensitive to Erik's. Charles could affect others while he was sleeping, broadcasting his dreams if they evoked strong enough emotions in him, but he had never received mental projections while his dominant consciousness wasn't in control. If Erik's mind had somehow managed to reach into his own through the layers of sleep, then it was something worth examining.

Distractedly, he chewed on the corner of his thumbnail and considered the exercising man before him.

It was true that there were some people he mentally connected with more easily than others; Raven and Moira had been highly readable to him from the start of their associations. It was entirely possible that Erik was such a person, but to a much larger degree.

Charles thought carefully, looking for support for his hypothesis. Something he'd forgotten in the panic of the Miami situation instantaneously came to him, like it had been skulking about, waiting to be called upon; he had been standing, glaring at Raven, and then a consciousness sparked into his awareness – another mutant in the water. Erik's mind had called out to him from the yacht, even though he shouldn't have been able to feel anything distinct at that distance.

Charles had initially attributed it to the dying scream of a very powerful, but thwarted intellect. Now, though, in the dim light of early morning, he stopped to think. Erik hadn't been dying as he fell overboard. When he had started dying, he'd been underwater and Charles had been immediately overwhelmed by his unrestrained release of mental energy. Again, it hadn't seemed too unusual at the time, minds which died violently often called out, but the strength of it was too intense to be entirely normal. Even now, Erik's thoughts bounced against his boundaries and he was constantly aware of their presence.

What could it mean? What was it about his new acquaintance?

The professor decided not to ask Erik about it; he didn't want to alert the man to this odd connection until they both knew and trusted each other more. It was something Charles would just have to figure out on his own; he was not desirous of making himself any more vulnerable than he apparently already was.

So instead, he slid back down the headboard and sprawled across his narrow bed. His flat may have been small, and Raven may have slept crammed into what was surely intended to be a closet, but it was at least comfortable, in its own cluttered, shaggy way. This base room was cold, with industrial grade carpeting, beige walls, and windows covered by thin, ineffective shades.

And the beds – Charles had slept alright, but that was a product of his tiredness, rather than their quality. They were stiff, crackly, and barely had enough room for one body, let alone two. He snorted and idly wondered if people ever did try to fit two, only to find that it just wouldn't work. He laughed quietly to himself; of course if two people really wanted to fit together, they would find a way. Hadn't he had his own share of fitting over the course of the years, much to Raven's eternal annoyance?

Though, he reflected, it had been quite some time since his last encounter. Had it been that one TA or the ash blonde from the pub with heterochromia? Four months ago? Or was it six?

When had he, a reasonably successful man with the ladies, begun to disregard that aspect of his life?

Charles shifted, irritated, Sebastian Shaw had a lot to answer for.

He huffed, not liking the direction of his thoughts, and flopped onto his stomach. He turned his face and watched Erik, who was on his 207th crunch of the morning.

Not really expecting an answer, Charles asked, "You do this every day?"

Without slowing, Erik responded, "Yes. The mind is only one part of your arsenal, the body is another."

"Hmm, very philosophical, I suppose," the professor mused.

He continued, "I never do sit-ups, or pull-ups, or anything like that. I try, but all I can think of is physical education classes and how awful it was to be stuck in a room full of sweating, preteen boys. It got quite tiresome to listen to their obsessive thoughts over and over. They only think of one thing," he added in aside, feeling the need to clarify at the blank expression on Erik's face, but unsure if he should be more specific. Understanding lit the man's eyes for a second, and Charles felt safe to move on, "I much prefer running. If I go fast enough, I can't hear anything."

Finally, the crunches ceased, and the other man withdrew his feet from the edge of his bedstead. He looked up at Charles, searching the exposure of his countenance. Slowly, Erik tilted his head, as if he was seeing something new in the planes of the professor's face.

"Very philosophical of you as well, Charles. Using the body to escape the mind."

He stopped speaking and Charles watched his eyes move to the window, where the faint hint of late dawn seeped into their room.

"We reconvene at nine. There is time for a run if you would so wish."

His eyes were inscrutable and his thoughts didn't bounce against Charles' awareness with the same amount of exuberance they had previously.

"It has been long since I have run for the pleasure of it," he added in a quiet tone, almost like an afterthought.

Although he had promised himself after collapsing into bed last night that he would not be leaving its uncomfortable embrace until eight fifty at the earliest, Charles found himself rolling out of it with a smile and a, "Certainly."

That yearning note in Erik's voice, he hoped that the other man didn't let it out often, because the telepath was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to deny it anything.

* * *

><p>Charles Xavier had not been lying, he really was a runner.<p>

As they circled around the perimeters of the base, kicking up grass blades with the pounding of their shoes, his companion breathed with practiced ease, a grin affixed to his face. Erik saw now that the body he'd thought was scholarly thin was in actually the lean build of someone who ran regularly. Through the thin whiteness of Charles' cotton shirt, which was plastered to his skin with sweat, he could see his muscles contract and expand with their motion.

So the professor did not neglect his physical shell, even though anyone with an ability like his might be forgiven for thinking that power lay in the brain alone. He approved.

Manipulating metal was very useful, and Erik did not know if he would ever recover if he lost it, but it relied upon his body. If his body was weak, then his powers were weak; if his powers were weak, then he was weak and his mission suffered. If he'd been able to stay underwater longer, or hadn't been fatigued by the time Shaw launched his escape vehicle, then he would have been able to hold the submarine and end everything.

Training was the answer. Strength had to be acquired through practice and repetition. He would not fail again. It boded well for his mission that Charles kept himself in good condition as well. It would make it easier to overcome the Herr Doktor.

Beside him, the other man dropped his pace to a walk. Erik matched him without thinking. Charles would not have stopped without reason.

"Raven's coming. She's been looking for me," he said, apologetically. "She's in a bit of snit still, so if you want don't want to listen to this, here's your chance before we round this corner and she sees us."

It was true that he did not wish to listen to people's petty squabbles, but Erik found that he did not want to leave the professor. Besides, he understood Raven; she wasn't coming to fight, but to apologize. Devotion like hers did not maintain anger well. It would be simpler for them all to return to base together.

"I don't intimidate easily," he responded with a raised eyebrow. "Children are children, no matter how scary they think they are."

He was rewarded with a small laugh, and he quirked his lips upward in return.

"I don't know – she can be pretty scary when she wants to be. But if you're game, let's go."

With a sudden spurt, Charles returned to their earlier pace. Erik assumed he didn't want the girl to know that they'd been consulting about her and followed suit.

They moved beyond the side of the sharp sided base, which Erik thought had far too many windows than was practical for any sort of building that had security checkpoints and a guarded perimeter, and the copse of rough-trunked trees they'd been in thinned to reveal the figure of a woman coming towards them.

Her features came rapidly into view as she raced across the flat expanse of grass and halted before them. Blonde strands darkened with sweat clung to her forehead and her apple cheeks were flushed. She gasped for a minute and clutched her side.

"Morning," she greeted them. "I'm so glad you coerced someone else into rabbiting about with you, Charles."

"Looks like it didn't keep you from running anyway," her brother cheerfully quipped. "Is there something the matter? Why're you looking for me?"

Erik noted that Charles was asking Raven what was the matter, rather than reading her mind. He didn't think that he was one to waste time on questions he already knew the answer to, so he must not read her mind as a rule.

From their time in the ocean, he had learned that Charles' abilities were tied in with his energy levels in general and on the plane he'd told Erik that it required effort to access people's psyches, but he couldn't help but to hear thoughts that were unguarded or projected enough (as most people's were).

The telepath had to have some sort of barrier erected to keep the constant noise he must hear to a minimum. He remembered this morning though, when Charles had woken up and demanded that he be quiet. How was it that he was hearing Erik's counting as he slept if he was hypothetically able to erect barriers to keep that sort of thing out?

It was a mystery, and this encounter was not making anything more evident. The only thing Erik could gather was that either Raven kept her thoughts close or Charles made an effort not to hear them. It seemed that the devotion went both ways here. Which was all very nice, but left him out in the cold isolation of not understanding something important.

He was going to have to ask Charles for clarification at some point; he had to know how vulnerable he was. But it could wait until they were alone.

A diamond woman and the feeling of pressing into a deck while his insides turned to fire flashed through his mind. Erik didn't need anyone else knowing how susceptible he was to mental invasion.

Raven grinned at her brother, expression sheepish, but somehow cheeky as well.

"I was going to tell you that breakfast's ready and that Mr. A wants us to tour the labs, but I'm sure it's cold by now and they've gone on ahead of us, so instead, I'll tell you that I'm sorry. You're an idiot, but I love you anyway and I'm glad you're alive, Erik."

She addressed the last part of her speech to him and he nodded, with a smile in his eyes. Her apology to the professor was expected, but it was surprisingly welcome to hear her say that she was glad he was alive.

He was glad he was alive, since it meant he had another chance to complete his objective, but he hadn't had anyone else who shared in that feeling in his adult life. Her words settled into him and again, he felt something inside unclench. Raven had said that she went where Charles went; it was only logical that she would be there when the end came for Shaw. She could be of help too, this monster sister of the professor who was glad he was alive.

"I am too," he told her in thanks as his running partner stepped from beside him and swept the girl into a tight embrace.

"Sorry, again for being an idiot. It's splendid that you love me anyway. I'd be crushed if you didn't."

The words were said lightly, but Erik knew that Charles didn't feel them lightly. They were true.

Raven was his sole companion of many years, probably the only person who knew the full extent of his powers. Her love and acceptance were the scale by which he judged himself and his worth to others.

Charles Xavier's reliance on the opinion of a single girl, who loved him with the fierce love of family, and the regard of two government officials, no matter how obliging they were being, or how much Agent MacTaggert had befriended him, as a gauge of how humanity would react to mutants, especially a telepathic one, was yet another sign that Charles didn't fully comprehend the evil of the world and how much his powers would make him subject to it should he be discovered by a large group of people.

He wasn't naïve, exactly, but he was far too idealistic. It was worrying.

* * *

><p>Raven pulled out of her brother's arms. "Alright, I get it. You love me too. Come on, I'll make sure we get some breakfast."<p>

Shaking his head, Charles strolled along behind her and rolled his eyes at Erik.

"Make sure, eh? Should I be concerned for the chef?"

She laughed then, a throaty sound that he did not like one bit, "For his virtue maybe."

"Raven," he scolded, aghast. "You are a young lady, not a– a– strumpet!"

Her lips plumped out in an exaggerated pout. "But strumpets have all the fun," she whined.

What on Earth was he going to do with a teenager? A teenager who was 22 and completely free to ignore everything he said?

"They do not, I assure you," he said, wishing desperately to be far, far away from this subject.

"Well, I guess you would know Professor Strumpet-Expert. What was that teaching aide's name again? You know, the one who left her garters in the living room?"

A strangled, choking sound gushed out of his throat and he could feel his cheeks burning. He was sure that he'd gotten those out of there before his sister woke up. Failure was a bitter taste.

Knowing she had won this round, Raven raced away, her laughter trailing behind her and filling the morning air with its sound. Charles did the only thing he could do – he gave chase.

* * *

><p>Erik came up slowly behind the sprinting pair. They ran ahead, and he let them, not wanting to get involved.<p>

Nothing that they said surprised him exactly; neither of them seemed like the type of person to maintain long term relationships, considering their mutantcy and the way that they were still so devoted to each other, like children who had never felt the stirrings of true romantic love to displace familial bonds.

He snorted. Stirrings of true romantic love? What did he know about that?

No, the only things he knew of love were drawn from reading and the occasional study of other people. He wooed planning and strategizing. His dates consisted of executions. His lovers were photographs and a single sketch affixed to a map. There was only room enough in his heart for one thing.

Though he was, disconcerted, he supposed, by the casual nature Raven and Charles Xavier had about sex.

This morning alone, Charles had alluded to it with his memories of physical education and Raven with her wild posturing and talk of cooks and garters. It was strange that Charles, who was the image of a proper English gentleman, would be so indiscreet.

Sex was not something Erik thought about. He kept it locked away, hidden in a part of his mind where he did not have to remember the degradations of a Nazi's dirty hands and the hot shame and disgust that had overwhelmed him, churning acid in his stomach and making everything reek of desolation.

The man hadn't been anyone of import in the Reich, unlike the other faces, but he'd been added to the map. His death had been the only completely personal one, but still, even knowing he had ended the life that raped his, Erik wasn't eased. Sex remained unappealing and, while he was not so inexperienced in the ways of men as to not recognize his aversion for the oddity it was, he could not fathom what it was that compelled about it.

Thrice in his life, when he was younger and weaker, he had lain with women. It provided a physical release, but it left him unfulfilled, and feeling dirtied, if it was possible for him to be any more sullied than he already was by memories and blood.

By its very nature, sex left one exposed, stripped to the basest levels of self. He did not like facing the monster that he was at those levels.

More importantly though, he did not have time and attention to devote to such mundane matters. Even now, he had wasted mental resources just in thinking of it. The chasing pair had gotten far ahead of him, halfway back to the base entrance.

Erik broke into a run, pounding away at the ground as though he could trample his thoughts down into it, like rain hammering into an arid desert.

He could little afford to miss the laboratory tour if he was going to continue amassing information to formulate his next step.

* * *

><p>Sylph-like, even when dressed in a dark brown coat, Raven continued to race through the dewy grass, but Charles fell back into a walk, giving up the game. He could have caught her because although he wasn't a swimmer, having next to no experience with water, he was certainly a runner, but he didn't.<p>

Instead, he let her forge on and he dropped back to wait for Erik, who was above playing chase and some ways behind them, coming up to the base at his own pace. Or at least, Charles hoped that he was being mature and aloof and not following them because they were silly rather than being offended by Raven's inappropriate chatter.

It was funny to imagine Erik, who had seen the worst and darkest parts of human nature, being put out by his sister's jabs, but Charles thought that he was a traditional sort of man. One who followed the honorable conventions of old in his own way and didn't unbend himself to forces like desire or lust.

The professor realized that his relative openness about such matters (provided Raven wasn't involved) was influenced partly by the liberality of his work's university setting and his research into the subject itself – you couldn't mutate without mate being somewhere in the word.

Really, though, he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't understood the carnal pleasures of life – he heard about it from the thoughts of others far too often and in too much detail to pretend any sort of ignorance. No matter what society dictated as a norm, there were so few people who truly cleaved to mainstream ideology.

At this point in his life, he didn't think there wasn't anything sexual of which he hadn't heard. And if he found out about something new, well, that just proved that human beings were endlessly inventive.

After a moment, Erik drew abreast of him and he smiled brightly at the stoic face.

He opened verbal volley with only slightly forced cheer, "She's a handful that one. I couldn't catch her."

Erik's returning salvo was a nod. Maybe he was upset. Charles cast about for another topic and found a question about something Erik previously stated.

"So you do like running then? It's something you would do for the pleasure of it?"

What the hell? His voice had gotten all purr-y on the pleasure part of that. There had to be something wrong with his throat. Choking again, he cleared it. There, that was better.

Erik was looking at him askance, eyebrows furrowed together and waiting for him to finish with his outburst.

"Sorry 'bout that, something in my throat. Like I was saying, you like running?"

"Something along those lines," Erik responded with another one of his not-quite smiles.

It was a relief to again be on solid ground, or what passed for it with this unknowable man.

_No wonder metal is his element_, Charles thought a little uncharitably, but the notion passed and he grinned back at his companion as inspiration hit him.

"In that case, you'll accept my challenge. First one back to base gets to shower first."

"There are many showers in the housing sector," Erik pointed out in his logical way, but Charles was already running.

"So?" he called back over his shoulder, savoring the moment.

He could practically feel the roll of Erik's eyes, but now, the German man was running too, drawing up next to the telepath. In seconds, he was pulling ahead.

"Enjoy your defeat," he offered, polite in voice though his eyes sang of challenge.

Well, Charles was competitive himself and ran harder.

As he ran, he laughed. So Erik wasn't above childish games after all.

* * *

><p>After a quick shower, which Charles won the right to have first by half and arm's length and Erik graciously awaited his turn for, abiding by the challenge despite the fact that there really were tons of dormitory style showers at the end of their hall, and an even quicker breakfast, they joined the rest of their team on the way to the laboratories.<p>

Moira and Raven, who each got their own rooms because the scarcity of women on the base didn't demand that they double up the way that the abundance of men meant Charles and Erik had to, watched them draw near with matching expressions of exasperation.

"Nice of you to join us, gentlemen," Moira snarked when they reached her. "I was unaware that nine am sharp was the same thing as nine twenty-two. I'll have to remember that."

Listening to the agent berate the tardy pair, Raven had an annoyingly smug expression on her face. Charles would have bet his original edition copy of_ On the Origin of Species_ that she was dying to stick her tongue out at him like she had when she was younger. It was rare that he got scolded for anything.

"Your confusion is understandable, but now you know, madam, and I'm sure we won't run into this problem again," he told MacTaggert with mock formality.

"Children! We don't have time for your bickering. I don't care who washes and who dries, just so long as the dishes get done," Mr. A silenced them with fatherly condescension. He set off at a brisk pace, not checking to see if they were following.

Flouncing like a little girl who was satisfied her brother had been properly punished for stealing her doll, Raven went after him like a duckling, chattering into his ear. The director didn't seem to mind. Erik was close behind them, but not too close, as though he didn't want to seem eager, but in reality was. Begrudgingly, the professor and the agent brought up the rear.

Charles was having his own immature urges and longed to stick out his own tongue at Moira. He was late, he knew that and felt bad, but he judged his run to have been worth the delay. MacTaggert wasn't out of line to be annoyed, but she was so dutiful that it occasionally got under his skin. There had been a time or two during the past year when he'd honestly been tempted to send her to sleep rather than continue listening to her haranguing. He'd never done it, but still…

He glanced to the right at her only to find her that her tongue was extended in his direction.

Oh, that,_ that_ woman. _So_ tempting.

Instead he said, "Very mature," as loftily as he could –which was pretty loftily – and quick-stepped beyond her until he reached Erik.

"Got the best of you did she?" he asked, amusement tingeing the rumble of his voice.

"Do be quiet," Charles grumped, "You were late too."

"At least he didn't mouth off about it."

Moira appeared from behind him, startling the telepath who hadn't sensed her coming near. He jumped a little and edged closer to the other mutant, whose lips twitched into an actual smile that he didn't seem to realize was on his face.

Charles supposed that Erik was laughing _at_ him, but he wasn't offended. Rather, he realized how silly the whole thing was and laughed outright, which made Moira stiffen beside him and inspect him warily, but she softened as well and though she didn't laugh, she did snort dismissively, which told him that all was forgiven.

Erik's smile was very nice, the professor decided. It made everything funnier somehow and chipped the stoniness of his face away to reveal the person beneath the shell. When he smiled, he was more accessible, more human. Charles realized that he wanted Erik that way, warm and friendly.

But what was more, he wanted for them to be friends – not just fellow mutants or partners for a case, but actual friends. He'd done it with Moira, why not Erik too?

The telepath looked back at the other man. He was no longer smiling, but his face was more peaceful somehow, like he'd noticed that he _could_ smile and it wouldn't hurt him. His strong presence along Charles' barriers hummed, quietly content.

Yes, he definitely wanted to be friends. Especially if Erik's presence was going to continue being so _constant_ in his mind.

Ahead, Mr. A came to a halt, causing Raven to walk straight into his broad back.

"Sorry," she apologized automatically, but he didn't seem to mind because he brushed the sentiment away with a wave of his hand and instead of responding, waited until he had their attention and threw open the set of dark grey double doors that stood before them.

"Welcome to our lab," he intoned, as solemn as he had been when he addressed Charles in the car. Had it really only been four days ago?

They were all silent as the shuffled in, as if by unspoken agreement they had decided to treat this as a special moment. It _was_ a special moment.

The professor could feel their anticipation in the air as they moved into the space – the place that might help them find the answers to defeating Sebastian Shaw and his nefarious plans; both in regards to Russo-American war and whatever it was he was doing with a force of mutants.

In appearance, the lab did not disappoint, seeming appropriately auspicious with its tall ceilings and neat rows of experimenting tables where various concoctions and models shone softly in the light cascading through the large uncovered windows. Charles knew that the windows were utterly impractical, but he understood why they studded the building. It gave everything a lightness and a sense of hope, like the people who worked here really were finding the promises of tomorrow. It was entirely fitting with the openness of Mr. A's mind. He felt that if there was ever a place they would find help, it would be here.

From behind a telescope the laboratory's lone occupant moved out to greet them. His long white lab coat hung loosely from his thin shoulders and because of his tallness hit him at the knee, rather than hanging below it. Intelligent eyes examined them thoroughly from behind thin rimmed glasses. Seemingly done with his cursory inspection, a smile crossed the pale young man's face.

_Why, he couldn't be more than twenty-five_, Charles thought with wonder. Mr. A gave the white clad back a hearty pat, which forced the man a step forward, but he recovered quickly and moved back.

"Sorry boy! Don't know my own strength sometimes."

"It's alright Director," the scientist assured him with a grin. _Does it every time_, his fondly exasperated thought buzzed to Charles.

"Everyone, this is Hank. Hank, this is everyone. If there's someone who can help us cook up a way to nab our man, it's this guy."

The boy in question flushed at the praise, and shook each of their hands, memorizing their names as he went down the line. Erik went before him, and Charles could tell that his coldness unnerved the scientist somewhat, so he resolved to be especially friendly when it was his turn. And to thank him for their excellent flight to Miami.

But as soon as the man's hand touched his, he was shocked and that decision flew from his mind entirely. He heard his voice responding automatically; giving Hank his name and position, but Charles' thoughts were far away. Their introductory handshake broke and seeing that they were all done meeting, Mr. A began to lead the group away, deeper into the lab.

It was Hank's turn to be swept up by Raven's chatter and he looked flummoxed by the lovely girl, but Charles didn't have the spare attention to note this. He stayed in place, waiting until the others were a bit ahead of them to grab Erik's arm.

"What?" the accented voice demanded. His arm was tense beneath Charles' fingers and he could feel the hard outlines of defined muscles. Right. Erik didn't like being grabbed then. Charles would remember that.

Distracted, he released his arm. The professor debated internally. It wasn't his secret to tell, and he wasn't even sure that the boy knew, but it might be knowledge that would help them. But Erik had the right to know; this mission was his life, and Charles wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that its completion may hinge upon this discovery.

He leaned in close, wanting this to stay confidential. The slightly taller man leaned down obligingly, willing to listen.

"Erik, I think that I've found another mutant."

* * *

><p><strong>Lots of rationalization of feelings going on up in here. I think Erik and Charles have a slight case of denial forming...<strong>

**In other news, you reviewed and after hours of labor, which will forever alter my body and life as I know it, an 8,000 word (more or less) chapter was delivered. I knew I should have gone for the epidural...**

**But anyway, I hope that it's as awesome for you as all of your feedback was for me. :)**

**I'm trying to think of some clever, witty way to ask for more of your amazing feedback (especially reviews, which my inner writing demon needs a steady diet of to sustain its massive output), but I'm drawing a blank, so I'll be plain.**

**I'd love to know what you think. :)**


	7. Bonds

**Bonds**

* * *

><p>The laboratory was bright with the light of the morning sun. It sparked along hundreds of metal instruments strewn in its blazing path. Set upon rows of slick table tops, experimental liquids bubbled and simmered, fighting the constraints of glass tubes. Mechanical contraptions perched in other places whirred and ticked ominously.<p>

Erik hated it. Despite the high ceilings and twenty windows lining the walls, this was still a laboratory – a place of secrets and unholy creations. Memories of the Herr Doktor and his wall covered in gleaming medical apparatuses filled his head, and he tried desperately to push them away.

They stood just within the doors all in a line, and the director called forth the single lab technician for introductions. The pale, narrow young man ceased his pen's scratching and left his observations at the microscope to come stand next to Mr. A. Erik did not much like the look of him, with his fidgety hands, unconfident stance, and staring eyes. Anonymity was his refuge, and staring was something that he never appreciated from anyone – much less from a government-owned mad scientist.

Released finally by the director, the scientist, Hank, moved through them, shaking hands and trying to puzzle out things about them from their body language, and Erik made himself stone. He considered telling Charles, who stood beside him, not to be so damn open looking, with his curious, kind eyes, but decided against it. He probably couldn't control that expression on his face anyway.

The lab coat wearing boy shook his hand, and Erik tersely introduced himself, his every muscle tensed against the touch of the smooth, thin hand against his. A hand so very similar to another that he had known. Known to bring pain and anger and the hated fear that curdled his stomach.

But the touch was gone, fleeting, and he was free of it. Free, but still unclean. Charles' voice floated, cheerful, like it always was, for his introduction and then the group began to move, following Mr. A like trusting sheep behind a beloved shepherd. He stood still, taking a moment to silence the past before moving forward.

Surprisingly, the shorter professor stayed behind as well. Erik looked at him inquisitively, but Charles did not notice. Strange.

He glanced away to the rest of their group. The others were ahead of them and he took a step, not wishing to be left too far behind. If Charles wanted to stay here, that was his prerogative. His progress was arrested however by the touch of yet another hand.

He hadn't been expecting that. Startled, he tensed, looking at Charles and waiting for an explanation. There wasn't one forthcoming. Instead, the other man looked pensive, confused, almost as though he was fighting something within himself. His hand remained clenched around Erik's arm.

"What?" Erik demanded at last.

His voice was brusquer than he meant for it to be, but it was hard to maintain composure when Charles was acting this oddly. Already on constant alert, his nerves were even more sensitive, both from being in the lab and anticipation for learning more about Shaw.

The professor came closer, clearly desiring confidentiality, and he obliged, inclining his head slightly.

"Erik, I think I've found another mutant."

Charles' voice was barely a whisper, but it grew and rang in Erik's mind until it was a crescendoing sound. More mutants? He knew that there were more, of course. And so did Charles. So why did he think it was so important?

His mouth turned dry.

He asked, voice struggling through an ashen throat, "Hank?"

Mutely, Charles nodded. Erik shifted his weight from foot to foot and noticed the absence of a hand on his arm. That wasn't important.

"Well, we're going to talk to him about it. Right?"

"I think so. My abilities don't tend toward the precognitive, but sometimes I get feelings – that young man feels important."

They quickly resolved to question the newest mutant at earliest opportunity and then hurried to rejoin the rest of their party. Erik found that he was glad of this new development. His hunt, while still absolute, had begun to feel slightly rudderless, and he felt much better to have an objective again – to see what Hank knew.

* * *

><p>The tour was dragging on entirely too long. Everything was very interesting, and Mr. A was quite an engaging guide, with Hank providing helpful notes, but Charles found that he could not pay much attention. He was anxious they break in order that he might speak with the young man. The idea that here was a fellow mutant, one who he felt could help them and perhaps find fellowship in return, burned beneath his skin, making it difficult to focus.<p>

He wondered how to approach him. Should he just lay out everything? Should he reveal himself first? It was tempting to rummage through the young man's mind, but Charles didn't think that he could be very subtle or careful in his current agitated state. But maybe, it was worth it. To find out how to broach the subject to the best results.

As he contemplated, the stopped in a smallish room off the back of the main lab floor. There was only one window, behind a large arch that dominated the space. The floor was completely clear of the clutter of tools, unlike the other areas they'd seen, and a large model of a plane hung from the apex of the arch. Or at least Charles assumed it was a plane, he'd never seen anything exactly like it, but that seemed the most probable conclusion.

"Hank's our wonder kid – especially when it comes to flying. He's got it in his blood."

Hank blinked, and turned a bit red, ostensibly uncomfortable with the focus. Charles couldn't help but to think that it perhaps had to do with the blood comment – if he was a mutant and a scientist, Hank would know it was his blood that made the difference.

"So what's this? Some kind of space travel ship?"

Raven had only been teasing, but the government staff all exchanged small looks with each other. Which indicated to Charles that there probably was space travel in the works. Very interesting.

Hank cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to himself.

"Ha," he began with a small laugh, "No, Raven, not really. It's only one of our newly contracted jet designs with some modifications. It would be impossibly expensive for manufacture. I'm working on getting the costs down and, uh, building it in the first place."

He looked at the jet with such naked longing, that Charles could see that that's really what he would rather be doing; working on his projects. It was the same look he wore when he was close to a break through with his research. A small smile touched his lips. Perhaps a suitable approach could be found more easily than he thought.

"Alright. This concludes our walk through. I hope you all enjoyed yourselves. I think that there may be some things in here that'll be helpful to you. Professor? Moira? Erik? Would you like to review that tracking set once more? Some of the finer points I didn't get to explain, and I think it would work out very well."

Charles most certainly did not want to look at the tracker again. He'd dismissed it at first sight. Wildly, he cast about for a way to remove himself without being rude.

"What about Raven and Hank? Shouldn't they weigh in?"

Mr. A considered the young pair, who stood close to each other, for a moment and then let out a hearty chuckle.

"These two? I think they'd be better served by telling the mess hall to make us a to-go lunch. Shoo!"

He waved them out and they left the room without waiting for a recant. Charles knew that Raven must have been terribly bored, but if he'd been able to keep her in here, she would have been able to distract the director and given him a chance to hang back and remove Hank to a more private location on one pretense or another. Frustrated, he inhaled sharply. It looked like he was going to have to wait another hour.

"So the tracker…"

Mr. A's voice began its drone again, excited at the prospect of finding gainful employment for one of his babies.

Maybe he'd have to wait two hours…

* * *

><p>The two hours came and went, and at last, Mr. A released them to lunch. Charles hadn't contributed much of anything substantial to the conversation, merely answering in the right places and making small suggestions to steer the government agents away from any idea too outlandish.<p>

Erik, if it was possible, contributed even less, offering nothing beyond a flat "yes" or "no." It wasn't out of character for him, but Charles, who was getting better at reading him, could see Erik's annoyance with the cyclical discussion in the set of his mouth.

He forced himself to walk out of the lab, not wanting to alert anyone that there was something afoot.

He had told Erik, but it was, after all, still Hank's choice as to whether he wanted his employer to know about his mutation.

Falling into step with him, Erik swiveled his head, looking around the chamber one last time before the giant gray doors swung shut behind them. When they did close, the German man's posture relaxed, going from hyper-upright to merely ramrod straight. His thoughts buzzed with less ardor and gave the impression of relief.

So he did not like the lab. Understandable. Though he had done an excellent job of hiding it.

Charles wondered absently just how far that steely control went, but dismissed it as a lost cause while they went in search of the kitchens.

* * *

><p>Despite the most modern of appliances, the kitchen felt like that of a feudal lord's keep, complete with grumbling workers, the smell of roasting meat, and an unholy haze of heat.<p>

When asked, the master of the kitchen, a wiry man wearing shirtsleeves, a spotless apron, and wielding a ladle as thought it was a conductor's baton, said he didn't think that Raven and Hank had been there.

"I don't remember rightly, but I don't think that I've seen young Mr. Hank in here today at all. Much less with no girl."

Charles felt the rolling waves of frustration building inside his skull. While generally unfailingly patient, he was not up to it today.

"Were you here two hours ago?"

Erik's clipped voice was commanding, and unexpected. He didn't seem the type to step in when social navigation was the order of the day. The kitchen head rubbed his grey stubbled chin, considering.

"No, I suppose I wasn't. I was in the freezer. Polly was in charge of the floor."

"Produce this Polly," there was a hesitation, "please."

The man nodded, and collared a passing helper, instructing him to bring his second in command. Shortly, the press-ganged fellow returned with a very square and formidable looking woman.

"What is it now Paul? Can't you do anything yourself around here?"

Her angry demands ceased when she caught sight of the intruders in her cooking domain. Charles could hear her accented thoughts.

_Agents. Think they run everything. Girl said two fellahs be coming for her though, one looking bookish, the other dangerous._

"Oh. You'll be looking for that sweet young lady then. I sent her and Mr. Hank off with a picnic basket. Might as well enjoy the outside while you can. They went to the south perimeter."

"Our thanks," Charles offered with a bright smile, despite his annoyance at being described as "looking bookish," (he did have other qualifiers, thanks very much Raven), and then they were gone, out to the back part of the base.

* * *

><p>The slow warmth of morning had burgeoned into the blaze of day, and everything seemed much more saturated with color and life. Polly of the Kitchen had been correct – this <em>was<em> a day to be enjoyed. Just not by anyone who had a mission like he and Erik did. The pair moved at a business-like pace, keeping an eye out for the picnicking youths.

"She'll be mad if you ruin her courting, you know," Erik offered unexpectedly, causing Charles to swivel his head and stare at him.

He stifled a small laugh. The German really did sound a bit behind the times. "Courting? I hardly think Hank to be her type."

The other mutant merely shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Charles did not waste any more breath on the absurd conversation, though he could talk absurdities with the best of them, but rather focused on his confidence-gaining strategies in his head.

He decided that appealing to Hank through a scientific approach was the best way to go. Clearly, the young man was devoted to his research and would understand not only his significance to Charles', but to the annuals of science as a whole. Maybe, since Hank was so invested in his jet, he'd open with the idea of a human mutated to fly.

He topped the rise of the knoll he'd been climbing and looked down into a small dip in the land. The spread checkered blanket and wicker basket would have told him that the picnickers were there, even if he hadn't seen them. Which he wished he had not.

Charles found that his mind was having a hard time ordering his body to move. Erik was a warm, hovering presence at his shoulder and his thoughts had a coating of smug.

"Not her type, huh?"

He watched as his sister broke away from Hank, who she'd been lying atop of, and moved back to the blanket with what could only have been a laugh. Slowly, the prone young man sat, supporting his weight on his hands, and gazed after her. _So she's moved on from chefs to lab runners_, he thought with no small amount of annoyance.

He believed in love (he'd researched far too much about brain compositions to think that those sorts of chemical rushes didn't create impossibly strong feelings), but he'd gone this far without it complicating his life, and he didn't need it now – even if only in the form of his sister and a silly romance. This needed to be nipped in the bud.

Before he took a step, a hand lightly touched his arm.

"If you go down there, playing the brother-savior, you're only going to make it that much harder to get Hank to talk."

Charles blinked. Since when had he become such a hot-head?

Erik was completely right. He would potentially unbalance already precarious scales if he went down and did the whole stern professor/threatening brother bit. And, he had to be completely honest, if anyone there needed saving, it was probably Hank, with his fluttery hands and soft voice.

"It seems that when you deign to speak, I should very well listen."

He didn't hear a vocal response, but the feel of Erik's smugness lessened, to be replaced by a swell of satisfaction. Good that he was pleased, because Charles did not personally think that he was going to be anytime soon.

He rolled his shoulders, adjusting himself. "Alright. I'm myself again. Let's get this over with in a gentlemanly fashion."

When they were about halfway down the hill, Raven noticed them. She waved enthusiastically, and nudged Hank, pointing to the men.

"Finally get out?" she called.

Neither of them responded until they were nearer. "Yes," said Charles, "and while we hate to interrupt, we were wondering if we might have a word with Hank – privately," he added, seeing the protest begin in the girl's large eyes. The lab technician fidgeted and looked away from the intruders. Charles couldn't help but to feel a bit glad at his discomfort. It served him right for romping with his sister.

"Actually, we were thinking that we wanted to have a word with you. Both of you," she said, including Erik, who had drifted to the side of the scene. Her eyes flicked from him to Hank, who glanced back up at her and nodded resolutely. "He has something to tell you."

Charles looked at the young man, whose thoughts were muted, but overwhelmingly comprised of anxiety and fear. The word _freak_ looped continuously.

The professor gave his sister a sharp look, but she determinedly kept her eyes on Hank. Charles put on his most reassuring smile and seated himself on the ground, so that they were all of a level. He could feel an eye roll in the back of his head, and Erik sat too, somehow making lounging in the grass look like a king upon his God-given throne.

Hank hesitated, and Charles encouragingly leaned forward. "It's alright. You're among friends."

Across from him, the scientist drew a breath and began.

"I've read your articles Professor Xavier – genetics, permeations of DNA variations, both accidental and intentional. I even got the chance to look at your doctoral thesis about the evolution of the human species. A lot of people dismiss it."

Here he paused with an apologetic look, but Charles beckoned him to continue. "Mostly, I think that that's because they don't want to see what's going to be looking at them in the face as we continue in this nuclear era. A separate species. It worries me."

He let out a small, bitter laugh, "Though I have to admit, that I'd probably be one of them if it wasn't something I've dealt with myself. Professor, I've been talking to Raven, and watching you today, and I don't think that I'll ever get this opportunity again, so I'm just going to say it," he visibly steeled himself, "I- I believe that I am one of your mutants."

Charles blinked. This was going surprisingly smoothly. He temporarily forgot about his annoyance with the boy and white teeth gleamed, bared in his brightest smile.

"When I said that you were among friends, Hank, I meant it in more ways than one." Pausing, he looked at Erik, who inclined his head in permission. "We're all mutants as well."

"You two? Raven already told me that she was, since I wasn't crafty enough in my questions and she's quick to the point. Sorry about that again," he said in aside to the girl, who smiled at him in return, far more pleased with the compliment than annoyed at his attempted subterfuge, "but she didn't confirm that you were. I thought that maybe you did your research because she inspired you or something. But this makes sense too. Familial interest has prompted many scientific discoveries, like in 1876…"

Well, it seemed that Hank was something of a talker, when you got him on the right topic. Charles listened to the prattle of figures and dates for a polite interval of time, and then smoothly cut in, directing the flow of conversation back into the channel he desired.

"Yes, I quite agree. However, that brings an interesting point to my attention. What exactly is your ability?"

Hank clamped his mouth shut and looked around at them. Suddenly, his thoughts were anxious again, even a little desperate. Was his ability really so burdensome to him? Tension grew heavy in the afternoon air.

Erik, who had been an observer this whole time, flicked his hand lazily causing the wire-framed glasses perched on the scientist's nose to zoom through the air and into his waiting hand. He kept them hovering above his calloused palm, and his eyes were focused on them when he spoke.

"Me, I'm a man for metal. It's what wrote my fate. That and Nazis."

As quickly as they'd left Hank's face, the glasses were returned, but despite their speed, they settled gently back into place.

_If you say we need him, then sometimes you have to appeal to people's softness. American guilt. Bring up the horror that they didn't prevent._

The sharp thought from Erik was an answer to Charles' unasked question – why had he chosen to reveal something about himself he guarded so fiercely?

It was like he knew that Charles would be listening. The telepath was struck all over again by the weight of what this mission meant to Erik – his life had been devoted to hunting Shaw and a pile of bodies whose blank faces were pinned to a map. If he believed what Charles had said about his hunch, then maybe he was starting to trust him. Just a little. Should he risk it?

The professor decided to take a gamble. He stretched his mental muscles, and connected to the man next to him.

_Thank you. I know what this means to you, _he told Erik mentally.

He usually made a point not to communicate with people this way, unless absolutely necessary. He didn't like for people to be uncomfortable around him. But he was curious as to whether Erik would allow him, and how a link with him, who was so strongly present in his psyche, would differ from with others. Hank wasn't the only scientist at the picnic, and Charles did not like not understanding things.

_Don't mention it. But you should tell him about yourself as well. He seems like someone who wants equal exchanges._ Erik was focused on a goal as always.

His mental voice was loud and clear, as Charles had suspected it would be. Speaking with him was like finding the strongest radio signal among the static of most minds. It seemed their compatibility was great. He did not have time to ponder this presently though, because Charles recognized the immediacy of his real task, and was withdrawing from Erik's mind, when the other man's voice came to him again.

* * *

><p>Erik hadn't found it entirely unexpected to hear Charles in his head, responding to the thought he'd concentrated on sending the telepath's way. It had been a small test of his ability, and as the German had hypothesized, he performed very well. He didn't feel Charles Xavier barging into his mind, or rummaging through his thoughts. The fit of the foreign consciousness with his own was a smooth one. It was even possible that had the telepath not spoken, he would not have realized he was there.<p>

Erik was not frightened by the thought because he did not think that Charles was the type to abuse his power, but it was unsettling to yet again see his weaknesses. He remembered the clearing this morning though, and how Charles hadn't read Raven's mind. The girl probably had some sort of arrangement with him. It seemed logical, but Erik didn't want to attempt negotiation because negotiating meant acknowledging a deficiency to an adversary, but he did want to be clear. So he called out, hoping that Charles was still there.

_Communicating this way is fine. Convenient even. Don't rifle through my brain without permission though. I won't stand for it._

* * *

><p><em>Of course. It doesn't bother you though? Truly?<em>

Charles did not like how anxious he sounded, but he couldn't pull the words back. Acceptance, despite his powers was something that he craved.

_I wouldn't have said otherwise if it did. Now stop distracting yourself and deal with the kid. _Such a singularly focused mind Erik had.

Charles withdrew and grinned at Hank, who was looking a little uneasy. Raven only rolled her eyes, figuring there had been a silent conversation to which they were not privy.

It was bound to make her unhappy, but Charles felt that it was better that he now had another responsible adult with whom he could plan things, and not burden his sister.

Erik pierced him with a cold glare, wanting him to finish up the conversation with Hank. Maybe responsible was a bit of a stretch for a confirmed killer, but at any rate, an adult nonetheless.

Foregoing flourishes, Charles told the young man simply, "I am a telepath," and gave his by now rote list of what that entailed.

Hank was bursting with questions, Charles could practically hear them zipping around his head, but before he could ask any, Raven stood up, calling all attention to her.

She moved into the center of the circle of men and gave them an all around bright smile. She was filled with bravado, as usual, but there was nervousness in that smile. Especially when it was directed at Hank.

"And now for the grand finale. You're all ready? Here I go."

Her skin flickered and changed, becoming the cerulean that Charles knew so well. It was impressive to him every time she transformed, certainly, but in whatever guise she chose, he could always only see her. He smiled fondly, happy that her love of theatrics was getting a chance in the spotlight.

In an instant, she stood before them as Raven. The real thing.

Surprise thundered from the two men, but only one of them had a vocal reaction. A hoarse gasp echoed in the silence between them.

Interestingly enough, the sound belonged to Erik.

* * *

><p><strong>Couldn't you just totally hear Erik doing a little girl gasp? I can. Who doesn't love seeing tigers up close and personal, amiright?<strong>

**I wanted to thank all of you who reviewed last chapter, and everyone who has alerted and favorited thus far. Everything you guys do makes writing this an amazing experience. Thanks for your patience in waiting for this chapter!**

** And if I haven't responded to your review yet, I apologize, and I'll be getting to it shortly.**

**In the meantime, you should totally leave me another one, so that I can respond to both at once and kill two birds with one stone... :D**

**The shamelessness returns. ;)**


	8. Shift

**Shift**

* * *

><p>Erik did not have many beautiful memories. Beauty was not really something he considered. He looked at everything from a practical vantage. Could this item be of use to him? Or not?<p>

But the sight of Raven in the sunny afternoon was not something he would forget.

Without his awareness, a gasp escaped his throat. He felt dizzy.

On the plane, when she'd said that she was a mutant, he hadn't asked her what she could do. He guessed that it had something to do with appearance, since her eyes had changed, but he did not think it went to this extent.

The hair that normally hung around her seemed to shoot back into her skull, replaced by strands of orangey-red. Instead of clouding and curling, it was heavy and thick, like a protective layering.

True to her young age, the skin that it protected was smooth and pore-less. Through the fabric of her light dress, he could see raised ridges, making patterns across her flesh. In the light, she shone slightly, reminding him of the glossy feathers he'd seen on exotic birds in South America.

Complimented by the blue hue of her skin, her face stood out even more than usual. It was strange, because her features were the same, those of a typical lovely girl, but somehow, she was _more_.

The only thing that truly changed in her face was her eyes. They were fantastic and cat-like. She must have excellent night vision. He wondered why she would want to give up that tactical advantage by looking through human eyes.

Even this one practical thought though, could not take hold. There wasn't anything else in his mind but the image of the girl, standing bravely in the sun.

It wasn't a word that occurred to him often, but it was the only one that was appropriate for the situation.

_Beautiful._

Charles must have heard that, but Erik found that he wasn't really worried about facing any sort of brotherly wrath.

It was no wonder the professor had believed so whole heartedly in finding other mutants, in wanting to protect them – he'd been harboring an exotic refugee for most of his life.

The girl swung her head, looked into his eyes, and grinned at him. It was a grin that spoke of devilish ideas. He was starting to see that her impish nature was undimmable, no matter what her form.

Without warning, she changed again, and now, he was looking at himself; tall and stoic with in aquiline nose, standing in close-fitting pants, a dark shirt, and a blazer.

His doppelganger winked at him and struck a ridiculous pose. Raven cocked her narrow hips and ran fingers through her smooth hair in a self satisfied manner.

"While you aaaarrreee exquisite, you're not haaalf as perfect as me," she boasted in his German accent. He never drawled like that, or stood that stupidly, but otherwise, she had him spot on.

It should have made him uneasy, but it was strange to such a degree to see his body moving that way, that he instead found amusement bubbling up from a place he had thought long dry. The professor's monster sister was _funny_. He clamped down on the urge to laugh and smiled widely at her instead.

She caught his look of approval and with a girlish giggle that had surely never issued from his mouth, she changed again.

This time, she was a figure he was beginning to know very well. He had only thought that her impression of him was amazing; her imitation of Charles Xavier was perfection. She stood like him, she breathed like him, the way she blinked her eyes was the exact way the professor did – rapidly at random intervals, as though he was loath to miss anything in the space of his eyes closing.

She moved though, throwing herself into a decidedly un-Charles like contortion. Her hand struck her slightly lined forehead, and she threw her head back, as though she'd just received a wounding blow.

"Now Erik!" she exclaimed in the sound of British chagrin. "While it's very good that you recognize my exquisiteness, I must protest the second bit of that statement. As I often tell everyone, I am Perfection personified."

The metal manipulator had to squelch another laugh. Charles _did_ come across as arrogant on occasion. She'd gotten that part of him correct.

"Hey!" came the protest from the real professor beside him, but Raven was shifting again, turning back into Erik.

"So you say, Mr. Perfect, so you say." Raven held out her transformed hand, examining her finger nails with detached disdain. "But I weary of your nonsense." She looked up, eyes wide, pretending as though she heard a noise, and transformed.

Now, she was Hank. Albeit a Hank that was not remotely like the diminishing boy who sat amongst them, but a bold and brash man, dressed in a princely white cape and tall boots.

"I weary of both of you," she proclaimed in lordly tones. It was a strange sound for Hank's slightly tremulous voice. "For it was decided long ago that I am the fairest in the land." She smiled a brash hero's smile, striking a valiant pose, and after a moment she let the form dissolve, leaving her as she usually appeared – a blonde-haired, pale skinned girl, smirking at them.

They all clapped, impressed with the display, but the last bit made him suspicious. Erik eyed the furiously blushing scientist. Did she already see him as some sort of Prince Charming? Why?

_You're going to need to keep a close watch on this, _he thought pointedly at the telepath, expecting some sort of return grumbling, but did not hear a response.

Curious as to the silence, he looked at Charles to find the other man sitting there with cheeks that were flushed pink. Erik was taken aback. The professor didn't look angry. So why the flush?

Questions and theories tumbled over each other in his head. Could it be that he was embarrassed? Surely he'd seen his sister acting up before. Why be embarrassed now?

Perhaps by her over-the-top portrayal of each of them? Or her Hank's silly outfit? Maybe he was sensitive about his ego?

The man was baffling, a strangely shaped puzzle that Erik's meticulous mind could not piece together.

He gave it up though, as he often did these days, when Hank, who had taken Raven's place, stood to attention.

As the youth cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Well, um, she puts me to shame, mine's not nearly so exciting, but, here goes."

Bending awkwardly, he struggled out of his wingtipped shoes and slowly peeled off his socks. (Erik noted that they were mismatched – typical absent minded genius.)

Unleashed from the confines of his clothing, his feet folded out wider. His toes looked more like fingers and they curled into the grass. On them, Hank seemed steadier. The skin of his feet, however, was an angry purple-red, as though they hated being forced into shoes. Forced into normalcy.

Erik hated hiding and forcing.

Hated that a creature like Raven had to pretend to be yet another frivolous girl when she was something much better.

Hated that Charles had been anxious to use his powers for speaking, for forging connections.

Hated that Hank felt the need to cramp his slightly irregular feet into the trappings of society.

Hated that monsters like Herr Doktor were free to prey upon people like them because there was nothing and no one to protect them.

Looking at Hank's feet, as he wriggled them in relief, both for their freedom and the others' unflinching acceptance, an addendum to his mission was born inside of him. It blazed so strongly that it seemed to latch itself into the beat of his heart.

_Protect mutant-kind. Protect mutant-kind. Hank. Raven. Charles. My people._

* * *

><p><em>You're going to have to keep a close watch on this.<em>

Charles forewent the bait, ignoring the invitation to conversation.

Instead, his heart thudded in his chest and though he tried to force himself to face forward and pretend that he hadn't heard the summons, he continued stealing sidelong glances at Erik.

Hurriedly, he looked away. There had to be something wrong with himself.

When Raven had transformed herself into the man, Charles had hardly believed it. She was very cheeky, that one.

He'd expected Erik to be upset or uncomfortable, but instead, the overwhelming feeling from him had been amusement, even fondness. Charles had already heard when Erik thought of his sister as beautiful, which was a sentiment that he wholeheartedly echoed, and for which he could not fault him. Coupled with this fondness – something he hadn't felt from him before – though, it became slightly worrying to the professor.

Not worrying in a romantic sense, of course. There was nothing romantic in the thought. Indeed, romance was one emotion that he found glaringly absent in Erik. When he was dying in the ocean and his memories streamed through Charles, there wasn't a single one containing it. There was love, of course, for his family, for his childhood dog, for various things; love in abundance, yes, but not a single romantic memory. Not a date, not a special person. Nothing.

So it wasn't some sort of prelude to his falling in love with the professor's sister. It didn't seem that Erik would think that way. Instead, how he felt about Raven was worrying because of the reaction it brought out in Charles. A reaction which he had never personally experienced, but knew very well from the color of it in the minds of others – jealousy.

The telepath found that he liked Erik. Earlier, when he decided internally to attempt to befriend him, it hadn't come from an artificial or shallow whim. It was because he found him interesting and engaging. He was fascinating, with the way he seemed not to be in touch with the rest of them, but at the same time was nearly as perceptive as Charles himself (and he was the one who was able to read minds! It was almost too much.)

By most value systems, Erik would be considered an unsalvageable sinner, condemned for his moral bankruptcy, which ran as deep as a black trench along the ocean floor. But Charles found that he _couldn't_ condemn him. Inside of the German was enough honor and belief in duty to rival Moira.

Similar to the feeling Charles had telling him that Hank was important, he had another about Erik. A stronger one, pounding in his skull, promising that finally, he had found a match. Someone who could keep pace with him in any arena. Someone, who if he wasn't careful, might just be able to destroy him. Charles didn't care about that part; he was already hooked on the possibilities of the first thought. A true equal.

The lonely place inside of him that was never filled, no matter how crowded it always was in his head, squirmed at the thought. He wanted so much for he and Erik to be friends.

Though he hadn't realized quite how badly until he became aware of his jealousy that Raven and Erik already seemed to be on the fast track to the Kingdom of Chumhood, while he was still sitting at the starting line. Pretending to be Erik, she'd swung those thin hips of his, amusement flooded from the real thing and suddenly Charles was awash with this feeling he'd never before felt. Erik hadn't thought of him with as much warmth a single time. Charles now found that he somewhat desperately desired him to do so.

It was very concerning. He became attached to people certainly, but it typically took a much longer time and deeper interaction. Raven was the only person with whom he'd felt an effortless, natural connection that had nothing to do with his powers. But looking back, it was different than what he felt now.

Raven had always been and would always be important to him, but she was not his equal. She was something precious to be protected and cared for, she was his companion and he loved her, but she was not his partner.

And now Erik only had to exist in the same space to consume his attention. He and Charles were different – very different – but those discrepancies were not sufficient to overwhelm the draw that the other mutant had for him.

He kept a close watch on his emotions. There was no telling how he could affect others around him if he did not. But something about Erik Lehnsherr disrupted him, made him roil about the bounds of his control.

Yes, Charles was worried.

But he was able to put it from his mind, temporarily at least, while he watched Hank painfully pull himself free of his shoes and socks. He winced in sympathy for the suffocated feeling that he felt from the young scientist, but quickly schooled himself to blankness.

Hank's socks were gone, and Charles leaned forward, inspecting the newly exposed appendages. He wanted to be circumspect, not wishing to make the other mutant uncomfortable, but it was hard for him to hold back. It was fascinating.

Hank's feet were large and flat, more like those of a less evolved primate. He must have fantastic speed. The researcher inside of him couldn't stay silent for long, and the professor opened his mouth to begin a question when a strong thought from his right rolled over him like a tidal wave, momentarily making him incapable of speech.

_Protect mutant-kind. Protect mutant-kind. Hank. Raven. Charles. My people._

* * *

><p>Moments later, he had regained his facilities, and was watching Hank run faster than humanly possible to a tree some yards away, which he proceeded to climb using only his feet; he should be able to focus again. All of the information he was collecting right now was important. Hank had two mutations, his feet and increased intelligence. Charles was sure the two were connected, though he couldn't puzzle out how. It was yet another riddle to solve.<p>

He had also been given an explanation as to why Raven was on top of the scientist when they'd fist seen them (he was showing her his feet, and distracted looking at them, she'd come too close and tumbled them over), but still, he couldn't pay anything full mind.

After that one overwhelming cry of determination, Erik had been silent. His thoughts did not ping along the telepath's mental walls, he did not try to communicate with Charles, and he ceased speaking. He was pulling his presence close, and focusing inward.

The professor did not like it. Not one little bit. Erik was planning something. He didn't need his powers to feel it.

Though he longed to enter his mind and see, Charles had agreed not to rummage. If he wanted Erik's trust he was going to have to stand by that. It wasn't as though he was going to do anything to harm their cause. The honorable streak in his character was too strong and Charles had felt his objective to protect mutant-kind bind itself to that unyielding part of Erik's psyche. Feeling the fusion was what had rendered him speechless.

All in all, he trusted that blade-like honor.

So no, he wouldn't go looking through Erik's mind.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't keep a close eye on his outward actions.

* * *

><p>Erik waited until he was sure Charles was in the shower. He crept to the door of the communal bathroom and waited until he heard the off-key, enthusiastic singing that always accompanied the bathing professor.<p>

"Shall I staaaayyy

Would it beee a sii-iin

If I caaan't hellp falling in loove with youu?"

There it was. His cue to go.

He suppressed another laugh at the professor's expense, (when had he gotten so soft?), and took off down the hall, retracing their route to the laboratory.

The guards posted at regular intervals along the corridors were easily evaded, and as he silently swung the metal doors of the lab open, Erik rolled his eyes at how simple his had been to get here. That Mr. A was entirely too trusting.

In fact, on the tour it was the director who had mentioned a records room, situated along the western wall of the lab. The escape-minded man had every intention of going in there and removing Shaw's file.

Yes, he needed Charles to completely destroy him, but he could not just sit around, doing nothing. Erik had a new mission, not only to kill Shaw, but to protect all of his species. It would go far more smoothly if he left now, and puzzled out the whereabouts of the Doktor on his own. He could call Charles Xavier to him when the time came.

It was for the best. He did not trust any government, especially one that would become aware of mutant existence as soon as the first member of the Miami excursion decided that they couldn't keep a secret, but for the time being, Charles and the others would be safe here.

Because that agent woman wouldn't let anything happen to them. Erik saw it in the way she looked at the rest of his group. She believed that her foremost loyalty was to her government, but she was not a woman who would be able to put an abstract cause before a flesh-and-blood one. If it came down to her choosing between betraying her employer or the professor, her friend, Erik was confident that she would choose the former.

It was a risk to trust her, or anyone, of course, but until he had located Shaw, he could afford to do it. The stakes were much greater should that man continue to freely roam the world and put his surely nefarious plans into action.

Creeping silently in the shadows at the edges of the large chamber, he had almost reached the non-descript looking door of his goal, when voices echoed in his ears.

"I hope you don't think I'm forward calling you here. But I really think that your blood might hold the key. To everything."

That nervous tone. Hank. Which could only mean-

"You really think so? It might help people with irregular appearances? Take the blood," the purring sound of Raven's voice confirmed his worst suspicions.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Erik controlled his annoyance with the silly young pair, and burst into the filing room, twisting the lock on the door and yanking open the drawer that he needed with a single sweep of his hand.

His eyes rapidly scanned the manila folders, until finally they lit upon the one name that burned the most brightly in his mind, and he reached out with steady fingers to pluck it from the rest. Roughly, he shoved it into his jacket, figuring that he would have time to examine it after he attended to one last bit of business.

With another sweep of his hand, he set the small room to rights. He double checked that everything looked undisturbed and satisfied, he re-closed the door behind him.

Exiting, he did not sigh, like he longed to do. Charles needed to be _far_ stricter with the girl. Otherwise, how could he justify his constant complaints that she was unmanageable?

Erik forced himself into a casual stroll, walking up to the pair, who were seated in the arch below the hanging jet model. They were cozily situated, and Raven knelt forward, almost as though she was about to crawl upon her jittery companion.

"You're not being forward enough."

Her voice was more of a purr than it was moments ago. Any more, and she would be a cat.

His mother never would have approved of the tiny black dress she was wearing, and neither did he. The entire backs of her thighs were exposed. Why did her brother not keep her in check?

It was as one last favor that he proceeded forward.

He allowed his feet to fall with more force than necessary, causing his steps to echo through the space.

"More than forward enough in Professor Xavier's opinion, I would think. But I suppose, you, his sister, would know better. Yes?"

At the sound of his voice, Raven sat back onto her heels as though she'd been snapped into place. Hank couldn't have been redder if he'd spent an entire day out in the desert sands.

The girl wasn't entirely defeated though, and he didn't expect her to be. Turning, she leveled a glare at him.

"I don't give a shit what Charles thinks. Or you."

She noticed her brother's absence.

"What're you sneaking around without your shadow for anyway?"

He merely raised an eyebrow.

"You should be glad that he's not here. Particularly the gentleman over here," he waved a hand at the silent scientist, "I'm leaving now."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Raven called out behind him, but he ignored her, going to the door instead. She wouldn't give chase. She would be too absorbed in settling her beau back into to some semblance of calm.

By which point Charles would be out of the shower and looking for him, so he would look for her too and any strange idea she had about romance would be gone into the night. Which suited him, (and Charles), very well.

* * *

><p>Slipping around the sentinels, he made it to the large glass doors of the entrance.<p>

He would follow the front loop down, and force his way through the checkpoints, until he reached the end of the complex. He pressed open the rightmost door and stepped out of the building. The night air was cool on his face, bringing a chill to his skin, but he ignored it.

He did not feel the savor of triumph, like he normally did after a completed leg of his mission. Rather, he felt hollow. As though something he hadn't even realized he'd been missing was draining from him all over again. He steeled himself. What he was doing was for the best.

"Nice night, isn't it?"

That voice was supposed to be safely in the shower, or in the labs. Not mere feet behind him. He gave no outward sign of distress, but Erik silently cursed whatever forces had put a telepath in his path.

"Stop cursing. I didn't have to read your mind, you know. I keep my promises, generally. It was written all over you this afternoon. Making yourself stone doesn't cover up a lie."

"You can hear thoughts if they're too loud. If I was going to get away, I couldn't have you knowing the plan."

The professor laughed with a sound completely unlike his usual tone. It was a bitter sound, like medicine on the edge of his tongue.

"Sorry, but it was not that hard to figure out. I'm surprised you've stayed this long, I suppose. It's clear you don't think there's anything here for you."

His words pierced themselves into Erik, making his insides feel torn. No. There was nothing for him anywhere else. Here he had something. Companionship, connection with parts of him long hidden. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it was something.

And he wanted to protect it. This was the only way he knew how.

"You don't have to do it this way, you know. You could actually work with us, with me." Charles voice had a plaintive sound, like wind blowing endlessly through empty plains searching for a resting place, but never finding one.

Erik didn't say anything. It would not do him any good. Charles sighed.

"I could stop you, but I won't. It's not my job to play at God and make people's choices for them. That's not what I want to be. But I will tell you that we need you." He paused and breathed deeply, like his next words would cost him a great deal, "I need you. Please, come in. We'll see this through together."

The silence that descended as his words faded into the black of the sky was unbearable. Neither of them moved, frozen in a tableau of doubt and fear.

Erik's mind raced, considering all of his options. He did not err in his calculations. Errors meant death. But perhaps this time was different. Maybe his calculations were flawed. Didn't everything in him scream that Charles was important? Not to leave him? Or any of the others?

They didn't know about Shaw, and except for Charles, he didn't think that they could truly understand the depth of the man's crimes. Protection might work better from a closer distance.

He almost lifted his foot to return to the building.

But then he remembered all of his reasons for leaving, and the battle raged anew. He could neither move forward or backward. Erik was frozen.

He did not turn to look at the other man, but he could feel the keen blue eyes on his back. After a few minutes though, they were gone, erased by the sound of a glass door swinging out into the breeze and back into place again.

The professor had gone inside, leaving Erik to make his decision alone.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered tiredly.

There was no answer, save the rattle of the shrubbery in the forlorn wind.

* * *

><p><strong>Howdy folks! All this talk of empty nights and wind makes me think of the tumble weeds and the Wild West.<strong>

**And speaking of Wild West, I've got a proposition for ya.**

**Remember the voting for Option A, a sexy one-shot, or Option B, an 8k update, a few chapter's back?**

**Well, A lost, but I wrote one anyway. If the reviews reach 200, I'll post it. To wet your whistle in the meantime...**

* * *

><p><strong>Sample:<strong>

Stronger than this though, was the smell of Erik; the mansion's rose soap on his skin mixed with the crisp scent that was always with him, like laundered sheets snapping in the wind on the lawn. It was heaven. It was hell. When calloused fingers brushed against the back of his neck, probing, everything was only intensified.

Involuntarily, Charles sucked in a sharp breath. The fingers paused, lingering at the spot and began an even, firm stroke.

"Here?"

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: The song lyrics included belong to their respective copyright owners, and not me. Shocking, I know.<p> 


	9. Ultimatum

**Ultimatum**

* * *

><p>It was truly ridiculous how uncomfortable the bloody mattresses in this place were. With an irritated rustle of sheets, the bed's occupant rolled over for the two hundredth time in the past hour.<p>

Unconsciously, he drew his legs up to his chest, twisting his body into a small ball. Heat collected beneath the synthetic fabric of the coverlet, making it uncomfortably warm, but the man did not seek relief from the temperature. Instead he relished it. Physical discomfort was something on which he could focus his attention.

Anything to call his mind away from the fact that Erik had not returned.

And there he went, thinking of it again. _Again_.

Charles flipped himself over, agitated. From his new vantage, though, all he could see was the perfectly made, empty bed that should be holding his roommate in a scratchy embrace.

An annoyed sound gurgled in his throat. However, he did not turn away, choosing instead to watch the personless furniture, much the same way a dental patient probes at a newly vacant socket with their tongue – it hurt, yes, but it was an irresistible urge.

"I give up," the weary voice muttered to the ceiling. It seemed there would be no rest for him tonight. The professor remained still, watching the bed and waiting for dawn.

* * *

><p>Except for the minor snags of running into Charles and one particularly watchful guard (who'd been dispatched easily enough), everything was working out perfectly. Erik had moved through all the checkpoints, using his affinity for metal to see him through, and now, he exited the compound on which the base was housed. It was conveniently located in the middle of a national park. Rather a good ploy on the part of the American government, he had to admit.<p>

A few miles through the overgrown woods and he would be at the small parking lot where overnight campers left their cars while they roasted marshmallows and told ghost stories flanked by the canvas walls of their tents, watched by the eyes of government agents in the trees. He had only to take one, and he would be gone, disappeared into the night, back to the hunt.

A small voice in the back of his head questioned the reasonableness of his plan (why not just stay?), but he squelched ruthlessly. He'd made his choice, listening to the forlorn breeze. There wasn't any going back.

He moved quickly through the trees, careful not to snap any sticks or rustle the leaves below his feet more than he was necessary. Woodcraft was a skill which had been valuable to him many a time and now, it helped him reach the lot in under an hour without anyone being alerted.

There were not many cars parked between the grainy lines dicing the dim asphalt. Erik counted them. Only six. Which meant that the theft would be more noticeable in the light of morning. It couldn't be helped.

He looked over the vehicles, deciding which would be his conquest. As he came closer to the back of the pavement, Erik saw a seventh car. Partially hidden beneath the bowed branches of an especially leafy tree, it had escaped his initial notice.

In the light of day, the car would have appeared black against the bright backdrop of the sky and wakefulness. Here, in the dark of night, the paint revealed itself to be lighter than black. A deep blue, almost like navy, but richer somehow. The would-be thief felt a small grin cross his face.

This was a very fine specimen of car. Very fine. It had an air of power, of comfort and privilege. Charles would have liked it.

The thought ceased his movement, and Erik became very still, hand outstretched in a gesture of his mutation, but no surge of magnetism to back it.

What was he doing?

Was this really the answer? Separation? Desertion?

Stealing the car of some family?

An image of himself as a young child following his mother through tall grass for a picnic flashed through his mind. He was happy then.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. Did he really want to take something like a good memory of time with their beloved parents from a child?

Because undoubtedly, if he took this family's car, that would be the predominate impression left behind of this trip. Forever, it would stand out as "the time our car got stolen" to them.

The fingers of his hand curled tightly together and the feeling of shame rolled in his stomach. When he recognized it though, he became angry instead. Since when did he think about things like this? Since when did he consider collateral damages?

It was all the doing of Raven and Charles Xavier and their growing band of misfits. This time with them had started to change things inside of him. Ever since he'd recovered his name, portions of his personality, his humanity, had begun to thaw. Fuck it all. He had _softened_.

Goddamned telepaths with their trust and their smiles. All it could ever bring was grief. But, gods, it appeared that he was tied up with it now. With them. Leaving wasn't an actual option. He'd just mistakenly thought that it was.

Disgusted with himself, he turned on his heel and melted back into the forest. The cry of an owl rang out across the now empty parking pad, echoing into the oppressive night.

* * *

><p>A slat of light hit him squarely in the eye, waking the dozing telepath. Charles opened it blearily. So he had gotten to sleep after all. Not much, but better than none.<p>

His jaws parted in a loud yawn. A yawn that turned itself into a sigh halfway through. He furrowed his brow and dug into his pillows.

Erik hadn't come back yet. Any secret hopes he'd had of the other man stealing in while he slept were dashed.

He stared at the ceiling, brooding. Mr. Lehnsherr was impossible. There was nothing else to it. Just because Charles had this feeling about him didn't mean that things would unfold the way he wanted them to. He could control other people, but he didn't want to. What he'd said to Erik last night was true – Charles did not want to play at God.

With Erik, he'd done all he could. He'd been honest, he'd laid out the facts as he saw them and left the man to make his choice. It hurt that he hadn't chosen as Charles hoped he would, but that was life.

Everything would have to be left to the hands of fate it seemed. One way or another, he was connected to Erik. They would meet again, sooner or later, he was sure of it. In the meantime, he couldn't rush the course of life, and he had other places that needed his attention – Hank and Raven for one, Sebastian Shaw for another.

Coming to this conclusion inside of himself did much to improve Charles' state. The nightstand clock read eight am, and he decided that it was high time to get out of bed.

No sooner had his feet hit the floor than a knock came upon the door. His eye cast about the floor, looking for the shirt that he'd discarded at some point during his restless night, but he didn't find it. Well, whoever was at the door surely couldn't object too strenuously to his attire. It was, after all, a relatively early hour.

The knock came again.

"Coming," he called, rolling his eyes at their impatience.

Shuffling across the chill floor, he swung out the door to reveal his caller.

His surprise was genuine since he hadn't used his abilities to check the identity of the person on the other side.

"Hank! Good morning. Everything alright?"

The boy shifted, looking slightly nervous.

"Yes sir. Everything's fine. Um, I, well, I just finished working on something last night-"

Charles gave a significant glance to the dark crescents beneath Hank's eyes.

"Okay, this morning. I didn't sleep at all. But I was thinking about our talk yesterday, and all the things that you're able to do. I already had a project, but I altered it to match up with you. If I'm right, and I usually am, I think that it'd be able to expand your abilities. I want you to see it."

He stopped, and seemed to notice for the first time that Charles was clad only in low slung pajama bottoms with his hair in complete disarray.

"Once you're ready that is."

Hank moved his eyes away from the professor and desperately, he searched for something else to say. He did not much like having those coolly amused eyes laughing at him. Professor Xavier was something of a hero to him and no one wants to seem foolish in front of one they admire.

His attention lit unto the made bed in the corner. It looked like it hadn't been slept in.

"Where's Mr. Lehnsherr? Oughtn't he be in here?"

Charles saw the innocence of the question, the way that Hank sought to deflect attention away from himself, but still, it struck a nerve in him. Yes, Erik ought to be in here. But he wasn't. Saying he was gone aloud would make it real. Charles couldn't do it.

"He's gone to the shower," the professor snapped. Seeing how the young man's face fell, he added hastily, "Sorry, I'm afraid neither of us slept particularly well."

And then Hank was looking at him again, sharply, like he was piecing together a strange puzzle. Charles heard his rushing thoughts.

_They didn't sleep. The professor's undressed. Erik's in the shower. First thing in the morning when he hasn't gone for a run or anything yet. Only one bed's been slept in. And it's very mussed. Oh Shit. Oh God. It's like those guys in the room next to me. Holy Fuck._

"No! That is most certainly not the case," Charles denied loudly, with crimson staining his face. "Hank, I swear, he's just not in here and I've only now gotten up. Please, don't make any assumptions. It would really offend him."

It was the boy's turn to flush.

"Professor Xavier- I- I am so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Um, but I'm sorry that it was wrong and that you heard it. Sometimes my thoughts get ahead of me. I'll try to keep them to myself."

Hank took a step back and grinned shakily at him.

"I've already forgotten what I was thinking anyway. So, will you still come see my work? It's on the western perimeter, near the tool sheds."

Charles nodded his assent. It wasn't as though the boy meant any harm. And he truly was brilliant. Whatever he had done was surely worth the telepath's time.

"Yes, yes of course. Just let me get sorted and I'll meet you. Half an hour?"

"Sounds great," the scientist replied. "See you then."

He took off down the hall, moving at a brisk pace and causing the tails of his labcoat to flutter behind him like white wings. Charles watched him, amused and fond.

Just before he disappeared from sight though, one of Hank's thoughts trailed across his consciousness. It wasn't very loud, but it was clear.

_It would offend __**him**__? But the thought of sleeping with him doesn't offend you?_

The professor slammed the door closed and began to rummage about, looking for his missing shirt. He found it, crumpled beneath his bed. Irritated, he pulled it over his head and began the next search for his washing up things.

Honestly, young people had the strangest ideas. Obviously, out of the two of them, this situation would have been far more mortifying to Erik than to him. He spoke out of friendly concern. From a statement like that, the German would have drawn a greater discomfort than Charles. Really, it wasn't that he wanted to sleep with Erik, the thought hadn't occurred to him. About any man. Ever.

Charles had heard of it, of course, even knew something of the mechanics, but it wasn't anything he'd had reason to practice. Not that he had an objection to it; there were some truly strange practices that men and women, the "natural" partners engaged in, things that made having sex with another man, even with all of the taboos that broke, seem very tame indeed.

So no, while this was embarrassing to him, it was only because Hank thought it in error. Charles did not like for people to suffer misapprehensions about him. He was too honest for that to sit comfortably with him.

Erik, on the other hand, would surely be horrified by an implication such as that. Not that he'd show it, but Charles would be able to feel it in his mind and it would make everything awkward between them. It was for the best that Hank not repeat anything of the sort within Erik's hearing.

Wait? Why was he acting as though Erik really was in the shower? Like there was a possibility he _would_ hear something like this? Why couldn't he accept the reality that the other mutant had made the choice to leave?

Oh God. He must finally be going insane under the weight of his own mind.

* * *

><p>The night had not been kind to Erik. He had plunged back into the woods without thought or direction, and soon, despite all of his experience, he was lost.<p>

The base should have been a few miles almost due west, but it wasn't. There was nothing. Nothing but the endless trees and the incessant crying of nocturnal animals. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he listened to them.

It was like one of his mother's fairytale. The one with the girl and the beast in the enchanted castle. To distract himself, he thought about the story in his head.

The girl left the monster's palace to nurse her father, thinking she was doing the right thing, but soon she realized that her place was alongside the beastly man she'd left behind. But when she went to return, she couldn't find the enchanted place again. She did not return to her father's home or stop searching though. Instead, she wandered the woods until finally, in desperation when she was on the brink of death from exhaustion and dehydration, she pled with the heavens that she might find a way back to her beast. Finally, the path opened up.

The forest had been testing her. Tempering her feelings in the fire of its judgment. Perhaps these trees were doing the same to him.

However, Erik had no interest in searching for days untold. Or being tested. He'd wavered earlier this night, thinking that his old ways were the best ways. But working alone did not always turn out for the best. He knew that now. More than anything, it was his desire to return to his new-found people. He would do so, regardless of whatever magic was making this forest unnavigable.

There was no better way to fight it than with his own monstrosity. Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, he closed his eyes, letting his newly awakened self – the self that felt things, laughed, and smiled – submerge back into his mental depths. When he opened his eyes again, it was his instincts that led. The cold ones which had steered him through maps and murder.

But that was alright. He needed this part of himself. This protective shell that let him do what had to be done without his conscience suffering.

In the clear space between two towering trees, he turned a slow circle, feeling the air. Ah. There it was.

He closed his eyes and forced his killer self away again.

While he hadn't exactly pled with the gods or made promises of undying love, he had taken a risk in trusting himself.

It worked though, because directly in front of him, there was a small sign warning, "Danger! Keep out."

Another slow smile crossed his face.

The base had to be nearby.

* * *

><p>Huddled against the outer edge of the tool shed like it longed to lean on the other structure for support, Hank's experiment's tower did not look promising. It was two stories high, peeking out over the surrounding roof line. Weeds grew tall along its hexagonal base, lending a decrepit air.<p>

As Charles came closer, he sensed that the scientist was not alone. A mind with a very distinct flavor stood next to him.

"Professor! Over here! We're over here!"

He couldn't help but to laugh at the exuberant directions.

"Good morning Mr. A. I didn't expect that you'd be here."

The stout director beamed at him. He stuck out a thick arm, wrapping the youth beside him in a sideways hug. The smile he directed at Hank was proud and fatherly.

"I wouldn't miss this for anything! I can't wait to see what Hank's been thinking up out here. Said it'd help us out."

Charles observed the two, amused. It didn't seem that the young mutant had any family that he kept in contact with and Mr. A certainly loved him a great deal. An idea came to him. Hmm... Well, if Erik, one of the most reticent people he'd ever met didn't mind, then maybe Hank wouldn't either. The telepath established a thin link between their minds.

_I won't order you about, but I think that you should tell him. He knows about the rest of us and is still willing to help. I haven't met many minds as good as his._

Through the link he felt shock and a dizzy giddiness.

_Oh gosh, you can talk mind to mind? Did you mention that yesterday? Does it work with everyone or only other mutants? How often do you use it?_

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Hank would ask a million questions.

_I believe that I did. You may have been distracted. It's worked with everyone I've tried it with thus far. I believe it just has to be a being with a higher consciousness for me to connect. For example, I cannot connect with animals at all. And rarely. More importantly though, are you going to tell him?_

Hank didn't answer, instead unlocking the door to the tower with shaking hands. He did not open it however, and stood still facing it. Mr. A looked at Charles in a silent question, but the telepath only shrugged. Hank was holding whatever this was still inside himself.

"Director, sir, about what we was saying before Professor Xavier arrived. To answer your question. Yes, you're right. We're the same." Hank swallowed, "Mutants."

A loud clap rang out, causing Charles to look at the older man sharply. Mr. A was looking at Hank's back though and did not notice. He moved his hands together again, recreating the smacking noise. Again and again he did it, morphing himself into a single man applause machine.

"Bravo Hank! Bravo. I'm so happy for you. And honored that you've told me. You know how I worry about you-" _never fitting in with the others_ came the unfinished part of the sentence into Charles' mind. "But I don't have to anymore. You've got the best of friends now. A place in the world."

He gripped the telepath's arm, making who exactly it was that he meant clear.

The young scientist finally faced them with a tremulous smile. Suspicious wetness was gathered in his lower lashes.

"I guess I do, sir. Thank you, I was so afraid of what you'd think. That you'd send me away."

"Never," said Mr. A with such sincerity and resolve that Charles was touched.

Red colored the youth's face. "Well, uh, do you want to see my latest and maybe greatest then?"

"Lead away," the man gestured, waving Hank to go in first. His back disappeared into the darkness inside and the professor began to move after him, but the hand still on his arm stopped him.

"You'll take good care of my boy."

It wasn't a question. Or a statement.

It was a threat.

"There's no need for that. Yes, I will. You've my word."

The hand released him and Mr. A smiled up into his face. The tension disappeared and nothing but cheerfulness remained in his demeanor. He chuckled.

"Good, good. Just had to be clear. Well, let's see what's cooking."

* * *

><p>Cooking, as it turned out, was a very apt term to describe the inside of the shabby tower. Even without the warming of the full day sun, it was hot. The professor was sweating within seconds.<p>

The whole structure was a single room with a platform built into the middle of the building's height, slicing it in two roughly where the roof of the first floor would have been. Below the platform was filled with wires, black and red, thick and thin. It was like a pit of very still snakes. A small dropdown staircase was the only way to access the platform.

The three men climbed it, entering a different world.

White. That was Charles' first impression. Everything above the platform was white, from the floor, to the walls, to the whirring electrical equipment that crowded the edges of the place. The only color came from the small buttons, dials, and lights on the machinery.

With the walls lined by machinery, the hexagonal shape of the room seemed rounder. Everything centered around one small marked circle on the floor. It was a space defined by waist high metal railing, large enough for one man to stand comfortably.

Supported from a metal brace in the roof, an ominous object dangled, connected by a myriad of wires to everything in the room. It seemed that this curious, helmet-like contraption was the focus.

Helmet-like? Oh Gods, did Hank want him to put that thing on his head?

It was a particularly gruesome science-fiction novel waiting to happen.

With undisguised love, the mad lab tech patted the side of the torture device. "This," he said, voice a caress, "is Cerebro."

* * *

><p>Following the path, within an hour or so, Erik found himself at the barbed wire topped wall that he sought. Triumph curled the edges of his lips. This was the western perimeter. He'd made it back.<p>

He considered the slab of concrete before him, mulling over his choices. He could go for the subtle approach of finding a way to sneak in or creeping round to the front entrance. Or he could just move the barbed wire down and pull himself up on it. He'd flatten the spikes and be over the wall in approximately one minute. While he hated laziness, he also hated waste. And it would absolutely be a waste for him to walk all the way to the front.

So he connected with the burning place inside himself where the fire that powered his abilities was stored and the wire poured down to meet him. He grasped the metal that now resembled a rope and exerting his mutation, lifted his body up and over the wall. As he came down on the inner side, he scanned the area for witnesses. It seemed there were none. Good. That would make his sudden reappearance that much easier.

His feet touched the Earth and something inside of him seemed to settle into place. Yes, this was definitely the best place from which to carry out his plans. Not that he had any exact ones at the moment, but he would. Just as soon as he found Charles Xavier.

At a quick clip, he moved in the direction of the main building. The sooner he found the telepath, the better. He didn't have any intention of doing something like apologizing, but he did have every intention to make it clear that they were moving forward together.

Because again, Charles was the key. It had been decided in the forest. He and Erik were sticking together, whether he wanted to or not.

The cluster of dilapidated tool sheds, mostly full of failed experiments and gardening implements, told him that he was getting close. He was nearly level with the outside edge, where a strangely shaped shed sat awkwardly, when a side door on said building opened to reveal a middling tall young man dressed in a fluttering white coat. This could be expeditious.

"Hank." Erik didn't raise his voice; it wasn't necessary. The youth whipped around, looking for him. Erik stopped about three feet away.

"Uh-uh- hi. Didn't expect you to be out here. Professor Xavier said you weren't feeling very well."

So Charles hadn't told anyone that he'd left. It shouldn't surprise him, but it did. What was he going to do when Erik's presence was demanded? It was almost like the telepath expected his return.

"I am better now. I am looking for Charles. He was gone when I awoke and I need him," he answered smoothly. Hank looked at him suspiciously with strangely pink cheeks, but he answered the question.

"He went with Mr. A. They're in his office talking things over. Would you like a hand over there? You look tired."

One generally did appear tired after they spent all night walking through the woods, Erik was tempted to say, but he didn't.

"No, I'll take myself. My thanks."

* * *

><p>Hank watched Erik go. The usually fluid European man moved stiffly, like every step cost him great effort. He'd looked really tired. Messy too.<p>

And although he'd promised that he wouldn't think about it, Hank remembered this morning and the unclothed, unrested Professor. Blushing was starting to get pretty permanent on his face.

Dear God, he knew it. Ever since he saw the way they orbited each other during the lab tour. They must have been at it all night. Should he tell Raven? No. That was their business to sort out. Just like they'd let him sort out his mutant status.

But still, pretty irresponsible of them to pull an all nighter in times like these –

He needed to stop thinking about this. Put it far, far from his mind. It would _not_ do for Charles to catch wind of it.

* * *

><p>"While it is quite a tempting prospect, I'm not entirely sure that it would be for the best. Of course I'd love to find other mutants, but I just…don't know."<p>

Charles' voice carried down the hall, reaching the ears of the approaching Erik and stopping him dead.

"Look Professor, I want to tell you that everything's fine and that ethics should always be upheld, honestly, I do. You can see it in my mind. But, I also won't lie to you. Things are not looking good for our country. I know that you've been living overseas and maybe don't see it, but trouble's coming. Something far worse than another World War – a Nuclear War. There won't be any survivors if it comes. And I think that mutants may be our best chance."

There went Mr. A in answer. Erik stayed where he was, waiting for Charles' response.

They were talking about rounding up mutants – people who were different – and identifying them. In his pocket, the round metal disk began its dangerous quiver. Erik knew better than most what the result of a government initiative like this would do.

And he saw that there was no way to avoid it. They were in too deep. The director, despite his kind intentions, cared about his nation in a way entirely different from Moira MacTaggert. He would put it above all. Mr. A was open minded enough to consider mutant advantages and smart enough to actually use them too. If Charles didn't take on this mission, he would find someone else.

The blood in his veins felt like coursing ice. It was too late to stop it, but he could still try to direct the flow.

Erik rushed down the hall, his dictum pounding with his feet. _Protect mutant kind_.

Dropping to a less frantic pace, he crept to the office and leaned in the doorway. Presentation was everything when dealing with men of power. Surprise would have to be on his side.

"Fine. But it'll be Charles and me out there. None of your 'boys.'"

The sound of his voice was unexpected and both of the men were startled, though neither of them showed it exactly. With hard eyes, the director examined him. "I don't know that I can honor those conditions. Government personnel would be an invaluable asset in an endeavor such as this. Back up, that sort of thing."

Erik looked at Charles. He'd set up the scales, but it was up to the telepath to tip them in their favor. But Charles Xavier was keeping his face impossibly blank. He was unreadable and that made the metal bender nervous. He did the only thing he could think to do.

_I apologize; leaving was never the solution. But this isn't either. If we don't do it, they'll mangle the whole thing. We need to help our people._

The professor turned his head and looked at him with an expression in his eyes that felt like it was piercing through his very skin. It was uncomfortably like the way the Herr Doktor looked at him after a disappointing session.

It dawned on him that under all of his goodness, Charles could still be dangerous. An enemy who would not relent with nearly unlimited power at his disposal. In a strange way, he rather admired it.

There was nothing more he could do. Charles had asked him to stay last night and he had refused. The telepath had every right to make his own decision right now. But he hoped that the professor was wiser than he.

Erik stayed still, trapped in that gaze, and waited for his fate to fall.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, hey party people! How are you all doing today? I hope you're feeling as great as I was when I got all of your awesome feedback.<strong>

**But if you're not, I've got a cure for you. It goes by the name of "Fair" - the promised sexy one-shot that I posted in conjunction with my 200th review celebration! You can find it on my page or by searching.**

**And for the sake of keeping this disco-fabulous fun ball rolling, how about extending the party with a review? I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Especially if it's that Erik's sexy, even on his quasi spirit quest in the woods. :)**


	10. Fools

A thousand pardons for the delay! I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Fools<strong>

* * *

><p>Erik did not consider himself a patient man exactly, but he was used to waiting. He could do it with little discomfort, could sit in a standing pool of water outside a target's location for half of a day without stirring. There wasn't anything he could think of that he couldn't outlast. Hadn't he already been through the most hellish parts of an entire government's putrid imagination?<p>

Endurance was at his core. Maybe it was all that he had.

Apparently not as much as he previously supposed though, because standing in the doorway, purposefully not looking into the eyes that intently stared at him, a suffocating dread began to roll across his body. It wasn't born of impatience exactly, but rather a desperate desire to reach his goal. To hear the answer that would issue from Charles Xavier's lips.

Relying on someone else was an entirely new experience for him. Everything he did, he did alone. He was his own greatest asset – unfailingly dependable and completely focused on any task at hand. It was when other people entered his equations that his calculations fell apart. People weren't that interesting or difficult to analyze, but they were unstable components. They all had some element of surprise to them, a layer of secrecy over the deepest part of their minds.

Which, as inconvenient as it could be, was acceptable to him. He saw deeper than most into the darkest hearts of men and that was more than sufficient. Never could he be Charles, who constantly bore the weight of knowing things about others that not even they knew, with graceful passivity. What could one man do against the weight of all the evil in the world?

Erik looked up and was caught in the bore of the professor's blue eyes.

_Finally decided to pay attention to me?_

The metal mutant's brow furrowed.

_I wasn't aware I had to pay attention. If you wanted to talk to me like this, then you can do it without that, right?_

_You asked that I not do so. No rummaging, remember? I agreed and I try to keep my word. This semantic quibble isn't what I'm here for though_.

The impression of Charles in his mind was sharp and a little bitter. Hm. Erik hadn't realized that the telepath's presence extended beyond the brush of words in his head. Why did their every interaction create more questions than it solved?

The telepath's mental voice continued.

_I want to hear from you directly, not from puzzling through your thoughts. Why did you return?_

One short question shouldn't carry that much complexity. Return. Why? Because a car in clearing looked like Charles. Because he couldn't completely refreeze the thawing places inside of himself. Because of a fairytale running through his head, recited in his mother's voice. Because he needed them. Needed him.

Erik supposed that Charles heard all of the small thoughts that went into his answer, but he felt the need to condense it into one statement anyway.

_I've no more interest in being a monster._

He didn't feel Charles leave, but he knew that he was alone in his head all the same. Erik stayed still. It had only been a minute since he'd come into the office, but it felt like a small eternity. Watching Charles' lips and waiting for their movement was taking forever and the pause between his thunderous heartbeats stretched out into space. No, he was not a patient man.

"Professor Xavier, what's your opinion on this?"

There went Mr. A, playing his card. Charles' response was almost instantaneous, but it was still too slow for Erik.

"My opinion matches his, I'm afraid. I think only the two of us should be involved in this."

"Raven? Hank?" The director was disbelieving.

"Are young for it. And I know that they'll be perfectly safe here with you."

A threat was hidden in Charles' polite tone, but if the director heard it, he did not show it.

"Of course. I see your point and understand it, to extent that an empathetic human being can understand your feelings, but I don't think that I can acquiesce to your request."

Erik stiffened. It wasn't unexpected that they would go unchallenged, but it was strange how it affected him. Since when did he _care_?

Unconcernedly, Charles crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. "Good luck running Cerebro then. I've never met another telepath myself - well, except for Sebastian Shaw's pet - but I'm sure that there'll be plenty around once nuclear war mutates what's left of humanity."

Erik had to suppress a grin at the look on Mr. A's face. Mild-mannered Professor Charles Xavier – a very dangerous enemy indeed.

* * *

><p>Mr. A was not happy. Charles could feel his irritation rolling off him like a physical sensation. Well, he could be angry all he wanted. The director was a valuable ally – only days ago, Charles would have said his most valuable – but today, a tall mutant walked beside him, his presence a soothing balm that overrode Mr. A's anger. Yes, Erik might not have a large section of American government personnel or an entire military base at his disposal, but it was his support that Charles needed all the same.<p>

_I've no more interest in being a monster._

That one idea, communicated in a wry tone that couldn't cover up the earnestness belying it, had confirmed all that he suspected. Erik was the man who would help Charles realize his dreams of uniting mutant-kind and bringing them out into the open. He was going to help with the creation of the professor's bright tomorrow. Their need for each other, it seemed, was mutual.

And Charles was going to facilitate that in any way possible, including, he noted wryly, making himself a thorn in the side of what was ostensibly the world's most powerful government. Ah yes, it wasn't even ten o'clock yet and already he'd managed to accomplish so much - seeing Cerebro, finding Erik again, and having a showdown with a Federal agent. A good morning.

Finally, they drew to a stop at the edge of the oddly shaped tower. The fidgety shape of Hank loomed in the small doorway. Mr. A, back ramrod straight, stopped several feet from the entrance and looked back at them. "Other business calls, so I'm not going to stay for the show, but Hank will be giving me a full report. Rest assured of that."

With a curt nod, he swept back away to the main building. Charles watched him, curious. Hmm, so he had come all the way out here for the purpose of escorting them. It seemed that the lines of his trust were shifting. They would have to be very careful with how they went about this operation.

"Coming Charles?"

Erik's husky voice woke him from his suspicious thoughts. Unfortunately, they also brought an unexpected and thoroughly embarrassing thought to his mind. His disobedient, dirty mind. Why on Earth was he letting Hank's inappropriate conclusions open those sorts of gates?

Charles stomped forward, annoyed with himself and the surprised non-expression on Erik's face at his childish stamping.

It didn't help that Hank was standing to the side with a carefully schooled face and a meticulously derailed train of thought.

"Yes, let's do it already."

As soon as the words left his treacherous mouth, the professor wanted to pull them back.

And now Hank's train was up and running. Charles wished for the thousandth time that he couldn't hear the inane thoughts of others and climbed up the ladder in a mood as black as his cheerful nature would allow.

* * *

><p>The sound of Professor Xavier's footsteps rained down in the dark space and Erik felt the urge to contort the metal ladder into something quieter. Like two metal rods without steps between them. But he refrained and instead followed the unhappy telepath up the rungs.<p>

Stomping was very immature and very likely to get you killed when done in the wrong places. Surely the professor knew this; Erik could only suppose he did not much care at this time. This time – when they were going against the express wishes of a foreign government and using untested experimental equipment – this time that was more dangerous than any other.

The ladder gave a small lurch, the metal responding to the pull of his mood. Erik took a calming breath. He needed to contain his annoyance. If Charles was upset, then he had every right to be and he, the person who'd just received his aid, oughtn't scold him. Endurance. It was all a matter of outlasting.

After a short journey through the dark, Erik emerged into a world void of color. Funny, he had never before noticed how much he enjoyed the green openness of the base until he entered a place drained of it. It wasn't a menacing colorlessness, like the gray of the Herr Doktor's suites, so much as a disconcerting one. The round room, done all in white and completely filled with machinery, looked to him like a hide-away that someone who had no actual experience with personal laboratories would set-up.

Behind him, Hank clambered up onto the ledge. His sharp eyes noticed Erik's observation of the room around them. As it often did, the boy's face colored, betraying him. Of course. Who else would design this parody of a mad scientist's dream?

"It's not quite done in here. I have a few more odds and ends to tie up, some more computation devices to bring in," Hank said a touch defensively.

It was far too tempting a bait.

"Perhaps a high backed swivel chair too. Or an ominous red button. I'm always available for lessons in maniacal laughter should you so desire," Erik said silkily.

Charles came to the tongue-tied youth's rescue.

"Erik, enough. Though I may take you up on the laughter lessons. I've yet to find just the thing to punctuate the reveals of my brilliance."

"Personally, I find it works better in highlighting other's stupidity, but," the German shrugged, "to each his own."

"Very philosophical of you," Charles mocked, then turned his attention back to the silent scientist, "Now, Hank, are we going to get this running or not?"

His tone wasn't as smooth as usual and Erik could tell that despite his bantering, Charles was still annoyed. While he could decipher most anything about the majority of people and their motives when he needed to, Charles Xavier remained something of a mystery. Yesterday he had blushed in the clearing. Today he stood up for Erik, only to turn around and be angry without any noticeable provocation. It was ironic how bright and clear his presence could be in the metal bender's mind when Erik didn't really understand much of anything about him.

Impatient with Hank's slow-to-form answer, Charles strode across the floor and situated himself in the center of the room, directly beneath the horrible thing hanging from the ceiling. Erik had initially thought it to be the power source (every crazy lab needed one, you know), but now he saw with stomach dropping clarity that it was instead what everything in the room was _powering._

A horrible feeling clawed at his insides and he fought hard to keep from screaming. He'd seen the kinds of things that could be done to human bodies in the name of science. Charles was a fool to stand here and meekly accept that abomination unto his head.

The silly, naïve ignorance of the two play-experimenters made him long to bash their heads together until they saw sense. Idiots. Perhaps he should restrain them…

As though it had only been waiting for the idea to congeal in his mind, the waist-high iron circle around Charles groaned and leaned inward. Pointedly, the professor cleared his throat.

"While I appreciate your, ah, _concern_, Erik, I assure you, Hank and I have this well under control."

The strange clawing feeling was gone, replaced by one the metal mutant knew intimately – cold anger.

"Then Professor, I must tell you that you'll make an excellent lab rat. I've know quite a few – though they are all dead now."

At his biting tone, Charles pursed his lips and sucked at his teeth. It was not an attractive face that he made and Erik doubted Charles would have responded to his words with an openly negative manner if he were not already angered, but Erik felt he'd won a small victory nonetheless. He had cracked the telepath's superhuman façade.

"Yes, well, if I do die, I'm sure that you'll give me a proper burial and take up my arms as all good comrades must."

He longed to smack that condescending sarcasm from Charles' tone. He'd seen into Erik's mind, he understood what this meant to him. The mutants locked eyes in a frustrated stare-down.

Between them, the air seemed to crackle as though it had activated the excess electricity undoubtedly floating in the air. The semi-forgotten Hank made a strangled noise. The professor's blue eyes snapped from Erik and flashed at the boy. Unexpectedly, Hank looked back at him. It was Charles who looked away first.

Erik realized that they'd been having a mental conversation. For an instant another unfamiliar feeling twisted in his chest, but it was gone, quickly replaced by a reevaluation of Hank's fortitude. The metal manipulator found this showing of backbone agreeable. Hank was part of his new tribe and it would benefit them all for him to be strong. Obviously he just needed training. Something to give him the self-assuredness to feel comfortable using his spine more regularly.

"Okay Professor. I'm going to start Cerebro. You must tell me at once if anything feels wrong to you. We'll stop immediately." Hank moved in his coltish way over to the largest screen and control panel, "Ready when you are, sir."

Charles nodded once and the horrible helmet descended from the ceiling. Erik wanted more than anything to close his eyes, but it would be weak of him to do so. Before the thing was fully lowered, Charles turned to him one more time. His eyes were more like normal, gentle and reassuring.

When the telepath's voice bloomed in his mind, Erik was unsurprised.

_Isn't weak, silly. Only strong men can accept their limitations._

Silently, the metal mutant snorted, but didn't say anything. He didn't set much store by proverb-like non-statements. His only answer was to keep his eyes determinedly open and focused on the nosy man in the center of the room.

_Stubborn,_ Charles called him as the helmet nestled itself onto his head like a particularly affectionate viper. It was of no consequence; there was nothing anyone could have said or done outside of announcing Sebastian Shaw was walking in, to compel Erik to turn his gaze away, no matter how much he desired just that. Bad things always happened to people he cared about when he wasn't watching. He was not going to curse the professor.

For a few seconds they stood around in tense silence as Hank established equilibriums and baselines. Small sweat beads dotted his forehead as his fingers moved across the panel in a blur. Erik did not speak the language of Hank's ingenuity, but he sensed that this was a delicate operation. The boy had better know what he was doing.

"70*N, 56*S, 24.3*W, 68*N..."

From Charles' mouth an torrent of coordinates began to spew. Erik watched his unseeing eyes and listened to the numbers in amazement. Were there really so many mutants in the world? It was overwhelming and suddenly all of his years of isolation seemed unbearably cruel. The curse had never been his alone.

After a few moments the numbers came to a stop and Charles panted raggedly, his eyes still glazed in blank concentration. It seemed he was done. The risky experiment had gone well.

Erik was grudgingly admitting this to himself, when, without warning, the telepath's knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, escaping the confines of Cerebro's hold.

"Professor!" Hank's shout was a distant sound that barely registered for Erik. He was too concerned with running to the figure on the ground.

The rails surrounding him buckled outward and parted, leaving his path clear. Charles was too still. Erik crouched beside the telepath and reached for his wrist, desperately searching for a pulse.

His practiced fingers found it, thrumming weakly beneath the pale skin. It was good, but it meant only that Charles was still alive, not that he hadn't been damaged in another way. Some wounds meant worse than death.

The German moved his hand up to the professor's brow and with his thumb pulled open Charles' eyelid. The dark centers of his impossibly blue eyes contracted with the sudden exposure to the bright white light of the lab. If Erik did things like sighing in relief, he might have done so. As it was, he didn't engage in such behavior, so instead he contented himself with glaring at the bumbling youth who scrambled to his side.

"He was supposed to say if it was too much. This shouldn't have happened anyway. There were all sorts of safeguards in the system. But it was working! Did you see?"

The young American finally made eye contact with the deadly presence beside him. Erik felt the terrible coldness of his killing instinct cut through the fog of his mind.

Harming Charles Xavier carried the price of blood.

* * *

><p>Hank's contraption encased his head and the sudden surge of power hid Erik from his gaze – which was something Charles was becoming increasingly aware of not liking. He didn't have time to consider that though as the amplification of his telepathy overwhelmed his mind.<p>

Clearer than usual he heard the mental mechanizations of the two other men in the room. Erik, a steely ball of will focused completely on watching the professor for any sign of pain. His fear was dark and terrible, stronger even than Charles, who heard Erik far more clearly than he heard anyone else, had been able to sense previously. Instantly, he was ashamed for having treated it lightly in his fit of pique.

More ashamed even than he had been when Hank had pointed it out to him in their brief confrontation. Who knew the stuttering boy had it in him to call Professor Charles Xavier an asshole?

From the direction of the young scientist, he felt the clammy nervousness of someone waiting for their baby to fail, but desperately hoping it wouldn't. The undercurrent of his embarrassment for having called out his hero. His apprehension from looking at the face of the scary man with the burning eyes standing across the room.

Charles could see with cutting clarity that Hank fully expected that Erik would not allow him to live if anything unfortunate happened. And that for his part, deep in his subconscious, Erik really was planning on that as well.

Huh, that would be quite a pickle. He needed to stop this fascinating observation of his cohorts and instead focus on getting the location of other mutants before the ridiculous showdown came to pass.

So the telepath sent his gaze outward, sweeping across the nation, looking for minds that were instantly recognizable to him – those of mutants.

What impressed him first was the sheer volume of people in this country alone, the weight of their thoughts pressing into his awareness. Once he got past this and began to hear mutants alone, he found that the majority of them were young – almost none older than he. Many of them were only children.

It was something of a dilemma. He wanted to reach out to them especially, to spare them the pain of growing up in loneliness. But he didn't want to draw the CIA's attention to them. They were only kids. The government didn't need kids – at least for today's mission.

No, it would be better to keep the children hidden. The pain of isolation could be relieved at a later date. Right now, the threat of precarious political position was far more looming.

In the space of seconds, Charles eliminated children from his search. By the same logic, mutants with families that relied upon them were exed too. He wasn't going to come recruiting for anyone who had something more pressing to attend, like keeping their children alive and fed.

Changing the parameters of his search greatly reduced the pool from which he had to draw. His focus was narrowed down to a few hundred people. All young, all single. It was still too many. Too many mutants to be torn from their lives and brought to this governmental trial.

Charles narrowed his search again. This time, he would look for the minds that shone most brightly to him. If he had a stronger connection to these mutants perhaps they would be more likely to join him when he went visiting.

Satisfied with this further definition of his canvassing, Charles began to call out the coordinates of those people most present to him. He didn't know how it was that he knew their precise geographic locations; they were merely there, imprinted in his mind. It was an experience unlike any he'd ever known to have this much information flowing through him. He began to feel decidedly weak, but decided to push through.

When would another opportunity such as this present itself again? Charles Xavier could handle the pressure.

That was until he fainted.

* * *

><p>Unconsciousness was blissful. In his dreamy, disconnected state, a place where honesty came more easily, Charles realized in its absence how greatly the amplification of his power had affected him. It had been circuit overload for his telepathic synapses.<p>

Erik was right, he was a fool. Like any other person, he needed caution and training before running into an unknown situation. His supreme arrogance might very well have been the end of him today if his body hadn't reacted with a natural defense mechanism.

Again, he was ashamed of himself. But that was alright – if you felt shame, it meant that you were able to admit your wrongdoings. That was exactly what he was going to do when the pleasantness of the darkness wore off.

Until a thought crossed the great void between his mind and anyone elses'. It was keen and metallic, a cold sensation that made him shiver even here. Erik had engaged in his killing mode.

Right then, he needed to wake up before any lasting harm was done.

Bossily, his brain told his spine to sit up and his lazy eyes to open. Typically they obeyed with the instantaneousness of a well-trained soldier and everything would proceed smoothly from there.

The only problem was this time, they didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Cliffhangers are good for the soul. They keep it shiny and evil. :}<strong>

**You know what else is good for the soul? My newest project - original slash. If anyone's interested, you can find me on Fiction Press under the same name. I'm so beyond excited to finally have one. :) (****Shameless self advertisement concluded.)**

** Thanks for reading, I love all of you, and I'd love even more to hear what you think! :]**


	11. Accusations

**Beta'd by the beatific and excellent moviesaremagic. So the smooth reading's all thanks to her. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Accusations<strong>

* * *

><p>Blood was the price and pain was the payment he must tender. The requirement steadily increased as seconds pounded by and Charles did not open his eyes.<p>

As the small rabbit knows that the pursuing hawk is going to drop on him from the sky, the boy had to realize what was coming next.

Deadly intense, Erik watched Hank, choosing from the thousands of weak spots on the human body those upon which he would inflict the most damage. Perhaps the soft inner flesh of his elbow or the hollow behind his ear. The possibilities were endless - providing of course that the prey did not die too quickly.

The boy shifted his weight from one knee to another and began to nibble nervously on a fingernail. With hooded eyes, Erik watched the erratic pulse of the vein in his throat. Breath pushed from the thin chest beside him in hiccups and a single tear beat a glistening path down the boy's face. He hastily wiped it away with an impeccable white sleeve, but the droplet had already made its impact.

Inside Erik, the frozen place of murder thawed, melting under the heat of sudden emotion. He had seen men cry before – men far stronger and greater than the youth – men who had done truly horrible deeds and lived on remorseless. Crying for them was a last resort. A petty trickery that they thought might prolong their lives. Might appease the vengeful devil who had come to send them back to Hell. It had never affected him before. Tears served only to make his target's death more satisfying.

In contrast, Hank's sorrow was altruistic, genuine. He wept not for himself nor in an attempt to slake a killer's bloodlust. Erik was certain that if he mentioned seeing Hank cry the boy would deny everything in high embarrassment. He shed tears for Charles. In remorse for his mistake. His emotion was real.

The small salty drop disintegrated the shadows on Erik's soul. He was horrified with himself. This morning he had told Charles Xavier he did not want to be a monster. Mere hours later he was considering killing a person he had sworn to protect. A young mutant who was a valuable asset to his tribe. An innocent.

His muscles felt like worn rubber, like they would sag away from his skeleton and leave him limp on the floor. He felt old. Burdened by the weight of life itself.

Charles needed to wake up and help him lead this thing. He couldn't do it alone. Everything he touched became tainted. He couldn't keep himself clean, let alone an entire race of mutants.

Abandoning his perfect posture, Erik slumped against the distorted railing. The tips of his fingers brushed against the unconscious telepath's. Hank eyed him concernedly.

_I'm fine. Just damned is all_, he wanted to assure the boy, but his voice was gone. Weak. So instead he shrugged his shoulders. The young scientist nodded and gave him a tremulous smile of comfort.

"I'm going to radio for help. Get someone from the infirmary out here."

Erik nodded his assent. He didn't that think there was anything a group of humans could do to help, but if it made the boy feel better to try, then it didn't cost him anything.

He looked down where his hand brushed Charles'. Unthinking, he wrapped his hand across the top of the professor's limp one. His fingers curled under the clammy skin and dug into Charles' palm as though he could will his strength into the frozen body through touch alone.

_Wake up, damn it. I still need you, friend._

Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it to. He just wanted Charles, wherever he was, to know that there would be hell to pay if he left Erik holding the bag for all of this.

He kept him in handclasp, but looked away, glazed eyes absently inspecting the flashing mechanical lights around them.

* * *

><p>Charles was frantic. His body was not heeding any of his commands. He was trapped in a cold limbo with an alert mind and unresponsive body.<p>

Sometimes, when he was in a very bleak mood, he asked himself what was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. In a disgusting circuit, he would dig through some of the more gruesome things he had discovered humans beings had done to another of their kind and imagine himself as the victim. The woman who was strangled in her sleep. The soldier who'd been burned alive. It went on and on.

The truly disgusting thing was that there wasn't any scenario that couldn't be topped. Escalation was in human nature.

Finally, in self-reproach, he would give up the sick game as futile and he would settle on an answer from within his own memories – nothing for him could be worse than drowning. The pressing weight of water, the slow smothering of his lungs, the loneliness of it all.

He was wrong. His morbid investigations had failed to provide the proper preparation for the worst. This- this horrible purgatory was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. To be forced into motionlessness, but all the while aware. There was no relieving mental numbness. No eventual facility loss from pain. No cool embrace of death. Only continued frantic thinking. A perpetual awareness.

He felt Erik's executioner state. The terrible contemplation of Hank's soft spots.

_Stop!_ He screamed, unheard.

There was nothing he could do. Perfectly helpless, he lay there.

Dimly he was aware of the German's murderous intentions and their dissipation. The frantic running of Hank.

So the boy was still alive. If Charles could have smiled, he would have. Erik was learning control. That was good to know. There was hope for him. Though sadness soon crashed over this small happiness; sadness that he might be stuck here and never to witness the metal-bender's transformation. Charles couldn't help but to wallow in the seductively cold embrace of his self-pity.

He was diving deeper, falling in further, lost and adrift when he felt it - a burst of warmth filled the grey desolation of his unseeing mind. There was a tingling sensation, like the rush of blood back to a sleeping limb.

_Wake up, damn it. I still need you, friend._

He knew that voice._ Erik._

Erik, in his mind. Erik, shining through the murky depths of his confinement. Pulling him back with the strength of their mental connection, a thing which Charles was beginning to suspect went deeper than he could even understand.

Telepathy and its effect needed some more serious research. Right _now_, goddamn it.

His heart beat in a painful stutter. Slowly, feeling started to return to his body. It radiated out from a spot on his right side at the edge of his limb. Heat thudded through him and he sensed all the parts of his body slowly coming back under his control.

Finally! His eyelids were responding again and he fluttered them open. The sight that greeted him was unexpected. A knee, folded and sheathed in familiar charcoal fabric. This close, he could see the weave of its thread. Charles knew expensive and these pants were. Erik had insisted on retrieving his suitcase before they left Miami. He had been jealous of that smooth fabric for days – he'd been stuck with borrowed suits of a "deserter" who was at least two sizes bigger and stingy with his wardrobe budget.

Slowly, as though they were getting reaccustomed to working, his eyes traveled up the knee, observed it merging into a leg, a leg to a hip, a hip to a torso, a torso to a shoulder, a shoulder to a neck, a neck to an unshaven, strong jaw, and finally, to a face. A lean face. A hard one, with angled planes and pronounced hollows. He didn't think that he'd seen anything more dear in his life.

"Urghrr… Erik?"

His voice was weak and scratchy, like that of a cat who'd coughed up one too many hairballs. Erik heard him all the same.

Erik's sight, which had been curiously blank, blazed and he looked down at the man on the floor, hardly daring to believe the voice had issued from that throat. The glitter of open blue eyes solidified his hopes as reality.

"Charles? Can you sit up?"

Fondness surged in the telepath. "If you could lend a hand, yes."

"Of course, of course."

Erik moved hastily to readjust himself and bring the other man into an upright position. Charles noticed that in order to do it, Erik had to let go of his hand first. So that was were the warmth had originated. Curiouser and curiouser.

Taking great care, the German eased him straight-backed against the twisted remains of the railing. Professor Xavier smiled into his suddenly close face.

Erik's skin was very nice and Charles was sure that he must have been an attractive teenager, not one of the pimply gawky things he had briefly been. It wasn't any wonder an egomaniac like Shaw had delighted in having such a creature under his control. Flashes from the other mutant's memory panned through his mind at the thought. His heart beat savagely. Charles was going to kill that man for what he had done to Erik.

"Charles?"

The concern cut through the rage and the telepath was left shaken. Where had that come from? It went against everything he believed in to kill. Even the most loathsome had the right to life. Even Sebastian Shaw. It wasn't possible that Charles wanted to kill him. It must be the effects of the day. Residual influence from the weight of all those minds taking him so far outside of himself. Yes, something like that. Research - it had to be done.

"I'm fine," he said as firmly as he could manage.

Erik nodded and sat back on his heels. His eyes glinted wickedly at the weak telepath. "Now's a good a time as any to say I told you so, right?"

Charles let out a fake groan that was more real than he wanted to admit. "It's never a good time to be an ass. But I deserve it, so I accept," he admitted in a tone that got less tart as he went along.

Another nod from Erik. He understood. Charles wanted to be more explicit regardless.

"You were right. I was arrogant. And I thank you for making a mental link to bring me back. I won't make the mistake of dismissing you again."

The smooth, dark head of the other mutant tilted, considering Charles in a very serious stare. Sitting patiently through the examination was one of the more difficult things the Professor had ever done. It didn't help anything that he could feel Erik's wary judgment brushing against his exhausted mental nerves.

Eventually, Erik blinked, straightened his head, and smiled at Charles. It was a worn smile, not quite as wide as his lips could stretch and lacking the joy of an open mouthed grin, but it was a smile all the same. Charles was grateful for it.

His gratitude and the peace of the tower was broken seconds later when he felt someone very familiar enter the range of his consciousness. Some one very familiar and very angry.

* * *

><p>"You're both fucking idiots, Hank! Why would I intercept a goddamned radio to the infirmary from you? What do you think you're playing at? And why on Earth didn't Erik wring both of your necks? Fucking Charles!"<p>

Raven burst into the room, indiscreet as ever. Hank trailed after her shamefacedly.

Erik glanced at the weak Englishman perched beside him. He raised a single eyebrow. Charles shrugged in response. _What am I going to do about it_? his posture said.

The irate girl had the advantage of standing, so her downward glare at them was more effective than it would have been otherwise. Erik applauded her masterful use of dominance techniques. She had been born to wrangle and rule.

"Now, Raven, as you can see, I'm awake and well, so there's no nee-"

"Oh yes there is," she spat, cutting her brother off. "There is a need. You could have died. Did you ever stop to think in your rush for glory? Stop to say, Gosh, this is untested equipment, maybe I should take it easy the first time? Or did you go all out, guns blazing, ignoring Erik? I'm sure he told you what a jerk you were being."

Again, Erik felt a warm splintering in his chest. Raven's faith in him was something to which he had absolutely no right, but it made him happy. It was nice not being alone. Though, in this instance, he could not savor the feeling. He wasn't angry enough with the sheepish looking man next to him.

Admitting you were wrong. It was difficult to do – particularly if you were the infallible Charles Xavier. He owed the professor something for in return for his sincere apology.

"Raven," Erik began, voice a low rumble in his chest, "you're right. And for once, your brother knows he's wrong. Berate him later."

He turned from her as her mouth shut with a furious click. "In the meantime, Hank, did you get those coordinates?"

The boy jumped at being addressed and turned his attention to Erik, breaking from his nervous contemplation of Raven. "Yes sir. I did. I, uh, recorded the whole session, so it's there."

He regarded Hank with narrowed eyes. "You recorded the session without our consent?"

Erik felt something weakly brush his knee. Charles' hand. "I told him it was alright," the telepath said in a voice that was still too faint.

"Would have been nice to know," he muttered in reprimand, but there wasn't any real bite to it. His mouth quirked up at the edge and Charles' eyes twinkled.

"Ohmi-ghrowmmmm! Hank! Ow."

Raven, who had calmed down somewhat, puffed up again. She rounded on the faintly defiant looking scientist. "What did you do that for? Stomping on my foot."

"Sorry, I-I stumbled," he said to the ground.

Erik could hardly watch. Training; Hank needed training. That was the worst lying the metal bender had ever seen.

Which begged the question as to why he really had stepped on Raven. Erik thought back through the past few moments, but even with his keen observational skills, there hadn't been anything amiss. Perhaps the two of them had been doing something unseen. Supplying a false answer to comfort himself wouldn't do any good, but really, he couldn't think of another solution.

"Gah. To hell with it. You're all impossible. Let's get Charles to bed." Raven looked like she was desperately trying to control herself in order to ensure that her brother would get seen to properly.

"Actually, love," Charles said, gently, "we don't have time. I have work to do."

* * *

><p>"Honestly, I don't understand her. She picks the most inconvenient times to go motherly on me. You should have seen her on the sail over. Water travel, and really water in general, make me ill and she spent the whole time clucking and putting these sopping rags on my forehead. It was rather sweet actually, but goodness, could you imagine how ghastly it is to be floating about the bloody ocean in a bucket and someone keeps dripping more water on you? Like Chinese water torture."<p>

Charles swirled around the room, hastily throwing things into a battered traveling bag darned with knotted string in the corner. Erik wondered if it had always been his. Everything about Charles, from his posh accent to his posture, spoke of privilege. The bag was at odds with his image.

Letting Charles chatter though seemed to be a good source of information. He had already learned more personal details about the mysterious professor in the past hour than in the past few days. A confirmation of his hatred of water, which Erik had first suspected when the professor climbed the ladder into the rescue boat so quickly, for instance. Very interesting.

"Water makes you ill? Isn't that where I met you?"

The furious packing motions stalled for a moment and if Charles had been a cat his back would have arched, but as quickly as it stopped, the flurry resumed.

"It is," Charles offered matter-of-factly without turning around. Erik wasn't expecting anything more, but the telepath continued in the same tone. "Your mind, I could feel it from the boat. I couldn't let you die because of an uppity, overgrown puddle."

Erik remembered that night; the tsunamis from Shaw's mutant henchman, his own wielding of the anchor, and the burning, wave tossed wreckage.

Charles had jumped straight into that. Charles who was phobic of water.

And he had judged him to be a milksop. Amazed with the failure of his considerable acumen, he shook his head. Foolish, indeed, was the man who underestimated Professor Xavier.

"Hm. Glad to benefit from your sense of justice. You know, packing would be far more efficient if you didn't throw your things about in the first place."

Erik was only mildly surprised when his roommate threw a pillow good-naturedly at his head.

* * *

><p>Twice in one day was entirely too often for contentious meetings with Mr. A, Charles decided. The director sat opposite them at his dark desk and fixed them with an intent stare. He was eager for the mutant recruitment to begin – there was no telling when Shaw would strike, they had the barest of information – but he still didn't want to send Charles and Erik out unsupervised. What sort of shenanigans his erstwhile savior feared they would get into, Charles could not be sure. There was nothing beyond vague suspicions and the compulsion to protect his country by controlling this vital mission floating in Mr. A's head.<p>

"We have a list of twenty-five individuals who met the criteria we decided upon, sir." Erik, who had been informed of the criteria and approved, nodded in support. "Earlier Hank provided to you the locations we must visit, I trust?"

Mr. A fluttered his hand, acknowledging the truth of Charles' statement. "Yes, yes. Compliant with the terms of our compromise, I've also provided you with a travel budget and arranged for accommodations. And you'll be providing regular reports and sending anyone willing to join us directly to base." He stopped and peered at them over the top rim of his glasses. "You'll have one month. We can't afford any more time than that."

Charles blinked. An entire month? He'd of course heard the plan outlined, but it hadn't seemed so final until now. A whole month without Raven. His heart started up an anxious flutter. Was she really going to be alright here? Erik had told him about his suspicions regarding Hank and he had plenty of his own about leaving her unattended in general. They'd not been separated since they'd been together.

"Understood," said Erik in a curt voice, responding to whatever it was Mr. A'd said. Charles hadn't heard it, but the German man beside him was rising, so he stood as well. His thoughts were a blank wall, but he got the faint impression of amusement – Erik had noticed his lack of attention.

Regardless, as they walked out of the small room, Charles decided that he quite liked having an equal around to shoulder some of the responsibility. Oh, the daydreaming doors that would open to him with Erik by his side.

* * *

><p>Hank determinedly kept his eyes fixed on the circuitry in his hand. Handling the tiny tools took more concentration than the regular sized ones he typically used and he clung to that thought as an excuse to keep his attention averted from the furious girl staring at the back of his head. It was useless though. Ignoring someone when they were burning holes into your neck wasn't feasible.<p>

Okay, so he wouldn't ignore her; that didn't mean that he had to look up.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Raven?"

A noise like a deflating balloon escaped her. Feigned ignorance, it seemed, had not been the route to go.

"You know damn well what you can do for me, Science Boy. What is going on with my brother?"

Girls were strange creatures. He didn't have much experience with them, but he didn't think that Raven was entirely normal. She was kind one day, sneaking into the lab and giving him her blood to study, and today, she was a demon with a thirst for his soul. It was unsettling. He wondered if all females were this way. Most likely they were. It was a thought that made his heart pinch. Golly, he was probably better off keeping to the safety of his lab.

"The professor's perfectly capable of taking care of himself," he said in what he hoped was a reasonable voice. "It was my fault today. I should have had monitors on him to check his basic functions. Next time, they'll be there. Nothing to worry yourself over."

"Not that! Charles is forever getting into situations without thinking them through. I mean, why did you stomp on me?" She moved closer and bent down so that he had no choice but to face her. Her voice was silky now, dangerous. His mouth was suddenly very dry. "Stomping on a lady; it isn't like you Hank."

She moved even closer. Her perfume, something flowery and spicy at the same time, swelled in his nostrils.

"Hank, what do you know about my brother that I don't? What's he hiding from me?"

It was funny; he'd seen lots of movies and he knew when someone was playing the part of a femme fatale. All Raven needed was a lit cigarette and a low cut evening gown. But really, it wasn't affecting him. Well, besides making him uncomfortable. She executed a move that would have made the base's karate sensei proud and before he could process anything, she was in his lap. Her eyes were enormous and he didn't know where to put his hands. He suspected that she might be, well, uh,_ fast_, but that didn't mean that he wanted to touch her offensively. Desperately, he wished that she would move back to her own stool.

Her voice was louder now, a touch petulant. "What is it? You can tell me."

"Tell you what, sister dear?"

Hank sprang up instinctively, heart pounding at the sound of Professor Xavier's voice, and tumbling Raven to the floor with an undignified squeak. He stood there, cheeks burning, studiously avoiding the older man's X-ray eyes. Charles could hear everything that he was thinking anyway, so it was pointless, but it made him feel better.

Spitting out strands of golden hair that had gotten caught in mouth, Raven lurched to her feet. "Don't you come in here sneaking up on people like you own the world. All I want is to know what's going on with you! You're keeping secrets." Her voice started up a tremble, "I thought it was you and me. Together 'til the end, Charlie."

Hank was distinctly embarrassed. He was intruding upon a very private family moment. More than anything, he wanted to turn invisible. Raven looked wild, all popping eyes and tangled hair. Charles didn't make a move towards her, seemingly frozen, with a tormented expression on his face.

"Did you up and fall in love with him? In a week, like some twisted fairytale. God, Charles. Get laid, get over it."

Hank knew that she was just saying things to be hurtful, to hurt her brother like he'd hurt her, but he still flinched at her words. Maybe she'd had a small suspicion today, but she didn't know how on the mark she was. The desire to be invisible grew even stronger.

For his part, Charles remained where he was. He looked at the quivering girl with unreadable eyes. His face was a cold mask of indifference.

"Raven, it is beside the fact that what you've said is incorrect. It's ridiculous how you, at twenty-two years old, still behave as a child. You don't think. How would Erik feel if he came in and heard you say that?"

The girl blinked, surprised. She liked Erik, Hank knew. Charles was still, holding their silence with his terrible presence.

"You can think about it while you stay here for a month, alone. Erik and I have a mission. Perhaps that's what Hank wouldn't tell you."

He flicked his eyes over the pair. "Maybe he would have told you if you weren't crawling all over him - it's not the only way to get what you want, you know," Charles added to Raven in a condescending tone that did little to hide the anger beneath its surface.

It was childish and petty, the kind of cruel thing that you would only say to a sibling. A sibling who hit you first. It didn't take a boy as smart as Hank to see just where Charles' vulnerable spot had been.

Then he was gone. Hank watched him turn and walk out the door, so rationally, he knew it was impossible, but he felt like Professor Xavier had disappeared in a cloud of ominous smoke all the same.

A moment passed. Nervous, he looked over at the girl. Silent tears made wet tracks down her face. Hank went over to her. Unsure and awkward, he wrapped long arms around her small frame. He really hadn't noticed before how tiny she was. The force of her personality made her seem larger than life.

She let out a small hiccup and burrowed her face into the scratchy material of his lab coat. Unconsciously, he petted her hair. From the level of his lapel, he heard a small voice. It spoke in a wondering, dazed tone. "His worry was how_ Erik_ would feel?"

Hank didn't have an answer for her. He'd thought the same thing. The Professor had it bad.

* * *

><p><strong>Tsk, tsk. Charles, Charles, Charles, what am I going to do with you? You're going to blow your secret love sky-high if you keep on like this.<strong>

**But then again, that's sort of the point, isn't it? :P**

**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and, as always, review, or I'll think up some silly sort of punishment. Like another month between updates or something.**

**}:} (I love my evil face.)**


	12. Travel

**Travel**

* * *

><p>As the black car cut through the night, passing under the patchy light of highway streetlights, the only sound inside of the cab was the coughing of the motor and the rumble of acceleration. The driver resisted the urge to look over at his unspeaking companion.<p>

_ It's too quiet_, Erik thought, _far more quite than it should be with Charles as a passenger_. It wasn't that he minded not talking, but there was something uncomfortable in the professor's wall of silence. Something that made his nerves hum, alert to danger. It was unbalancing to be discomfited by the mood of another person, he decided.

Failing to ignore the feeling for the second time in the past hour, he glanced at Charles from the corner of his eye. Surly and still, the younger man slouched into the seat. Perhaps his telepathy was projecting his mood unto Erik. The thought made him instinctively tighten his already firm grip on the steering wheel.

"Could you be a fusspot a little more unobtrusively please? I can hardly hear myself think."

Cross and vaguely petulant as the voice was, hearing it was a relief.

"Might not want to tempt your driver to leave you somewhere in the middle of the night," Erik offered in mild response.

"I expect I'd be able to find another ride," the professor returned snottily. "Maybe with someone who doesn't fret every five seconds."

Grumpy Charles was annoying – and spoiling for a fight.

Wisely, Erik did not return volley. Whatever the telepath was in a pet about, surely he would find out the details sooner or later. Raven was shaping up to be an excellent source of information, he would inquire with her the next time he had a chance…

Moving fast and sudden, Charles leaned forward and swung up his hand. Reflexively, Erik grabbed his wrist, impeding what looked like the start of a striking attack. His grip on Charles was not enough to break his bones – just enough to ground them together. He noted the thinness of the professor's wrist with detached curiosity. That, and the way his blood pounded beneath the skin in a harsh staccato.

"I'm only turning on the radio, Erik."

And when he heard that voice, saying his name in that chiding teacher tone, he remembered just who it was in his punishing grip. A mutant of immeasurable power who could rule the world if he so chose (which he didn't for now). His ally and friend. Charles.

"Old habits," he whispered, removing the pressure and placing his treacherous appendage back on the wheel. No matter his mood, of course Charles wasn't going to hit him. Physical violence was never his solution. And with perfectly good reason – he didn't need to hurt the body when the mind was defenseless to him.

"As are mine," the professor said after a long pause (Erik wondered if he'd heard his last thought about defenseless minds – which was stupid, of course he did). But Charles was speaking again, drowning that line of thinking, "Sorry for the pouting. I rowed with Raven before we left and I'm afraid we each said some nasty things. I heard you think of asking her what was wrong with me and, honestly, I-I'd be ashamed for you to hear about it. I just needed some distraction – music – to keep from overreacting."

Erik blinked, fighting to keep his surprise from registering on his face. Arrogant Charles Xavier cared very much that he not find out the things he'd said to his sister? So what had been said? Something undoubtedly horrible. And obviously pertaining to something Erik esteemed…

His stomach twisted in disgust. "Called her a freak did you? Reinforced whatever thing she's got in her head that has her embarrassed about her looks?" His tone was cold and he regretted having let go of Charles so easily.

Beside him, he felt the seat rise and fall as the professor started to spring up, but thought better of it.

"No," he said in a very definite voice, "nothing like that. She holds that form for safety. We've been hiding for most of our lives. We only revealed ourselves a few days ago. I'm sure that once everything's settled she'll drop it – and why wouldn't she? Don't we all want the ability to be ourselves, free?"

Erik believed him. Sincerity was there and genuine surprise. Though it was telling that Charles didn't realize the depths of his sister's discomfort with her true physical form. He himself had been able to tell in the shy hesitation she'd had in the clearing, the way that she seemed to be concentrating especially hard when Hank came near her, her hinted promiscuity, and her willingness to join in a highly dangerous experiment with an untested youth.

Hurriedly burying this thought, Erik decided not to tell Charles about the blood exchange he'd witnessed. It wouldn't serve any purpose to do so, since he was going to take care of it personally.

The silence stretched out again, though this time, it was expectant. Charles was waiting for the question that was sure to come. _So what __**did **__you say? _It was hanging on the back of Erik's tongue, but he didn't ask it.

"Does listening to music interfere with your ability to hear minds?"

He didn't take his eyes off the road to look, but Erik could hear the professor's smile in his voice all the same. "It's soothing yes. You've never tried it? It doesn't impair the ability –which isn't really hearing by the way, that's just the closest approximation I have to describe the sensation – but it gives me something else to focus on and if I'm invested enough in the sound, it runs a sort of interference."

"No, I've not ever really tried it. One doesn't really have time for that when you're plotting the systematic destruction of the remnants of a butchering gang." His voice was wry, painting the dark words in a humorous light to which they had no right.

Charles chuckled despite himself, like Erik desired he should. "That does put a bit of a damper on things, I'd imagine. We can get started now though – I'll make a music lover of you yet."

Slowly now, his aristocratic hand came up and fiddled with the controls in the center of the dash. Sound filled the car, where previously there had been silence, and they sped on, wrapped in Charles' slightly off-key singing.

* * *

><p>Light was beginning to break up the dark sky when they finally pulled up to the motor lodge Mr. A had booked for them. Charles could not be more ready to get out of the car. After his little outburst, the trip had been a rather enjoyable one, complete with chatting, singing (so much singing), and even a gruff laugh from Erik when he'd flubbed the words rather spectacularly, but even so, it had been a long, draining twelve hours and he needed to sleep.<p>

Erik, who apparently had no need for things such as rest, went to check them in and returned shortly. He took one look at Charles stretched across his vacated seat and declared that he would carry in the bags. The professor didn't argue. Instead, he got up with a small groan and locking the car behind him, followed Erik across the parking lot. They came to an open-air hallway where the German turned right and walked some ten feet down.

"Room 117, here we go."

Carefully he set down Charles' worn carpetbag, the one that had been his father's and he hadn't had the heart to replace, and slid the key into the door. Erik tensed. His voice bloomed in Charles' mind.

_This lock has been picked_, he said, sounding like the world's most animate stone. No sooner had he spoken than the telepath felt it – there was another person in their room.

With some effort, he focused on the presence. It would have been far easier if he weren't exhausted, but it still didn't take very long to identify the intruder. Or to see that they were pleased as punch.

_It's alright to open the door, but brace yourself_, he warned Erik.

The other man frowned at him, but did as he was told. In a smooth motion, he finished unlocking the door and turned the handle. Before Charles could move, Erik stepped in and spread his body across the doorway, making himself a human shield.

_That's quite alright, _Charles told him sternly, but something in him enjoyed the protective gesture more than it should have.

"Ooo la la, your knight in shining armor charging in to clear out the dragons?" said an all too familiar voice from the depths of the room.

Charles ducked under Erik's outstretched arm. He strode in calmly, turning on the overhead lights. Harsh flouresence painted the long rectangular space in a yellowish glow.

"I have a feeling that the dragon has no intention of being cleared, so let's stick to the real questions shall we? What the hell are you doing here, Moira?"

The auburn haired agent watched him from her perch on the end of the far bed. A small laugh escaped her throat. "Did you really think the Director was going to let you all lose without _any_ supervision? Since I've been pulled off of all my other assignments until further notice, he said I might as well make myself useful here. I can provide you back up and or technical support and I'll do the reports."

She shrugged her sharp shoulders, "It's as much my case as yours so far as I'm concerned. I'm in this 'til the end."

"Why didn't Mr. A see it fit to inform us of this?" Charles asked in a weary voice, flopping down on the unoccupied bed. Trying to dissuade MacTaggert verbally was of no use and he wasn't much up to mental jujitsu right now.

She shrugged again. "Information is a luxury. You have your mission and I have mine. Let's not make this unpleasant." Moira pointedly eyed Erik who hadn't moved from his place at the door.

Charles took in his combative stance and narrowed eyes. Anger that wasn't quite muted enough for the telepath not to sense it rolled from him in waves. It seemed to be mostly directed inward and his _idotic pathetic trusting of the government_, but if it was manifested to the extent that Erik couldn't hold it in check, then it would serve everyone better for them to reconvene in the morning. The man would be a pure block of obstinancy in his state. (Which was something Charles realized ruefully, was also true about himself. He was still beyond embarrassed and stirred up about his behavior in the car.)

"Not unpleasant, not between us," Charles quirked his lips at MacTaggert in a way that was only slightly forced – the crafty minx _was_ his friend after all - and sent a meaningful glance of his own towards the door. "We'll set up everything properly after a bit of sleep. Your appearance has been quite impressive, but undoubtedly you also should rest."

He looked significantly at the door. knowing she would understand the hint.

But she didn't move, only blinked at him, vaguely surprised. It was gone in an instant though, replaced with another of her professionally amused smiles – the kind that Charles was learning to fear just as much as her Death Tone.

"I thought you were a man of the world. The university lifestyle was – _quite_ suitable to you from what I understand," she said, with a condescending smugness underlying her words. What? Why the emphasis on _quite_? He did not like this. "I'm bunking here, gentlemen. There's no room in the crackpot division's budget for separate accommodations."

Immediately after this rather spectacular announcement, she stood up and flounced to the bathroom, calling back over her shoulder, "I'm going to my toilette. I trust you'll both be good boys and leave me my bed."

Charles couldn't strangle the small gasp of laughter that escaped his mouth. Of course. Of course she was staying here. Why wouldn't she when there wasn't any specific purpose not to? Moira was anything like what passed for ladylike. She was an agent – impervious to superfluous concerns while on the job. It was rather funny how his own initial reaction had almost been to cluck disapprovingly. Perhaps the campus' liberal sexuality hadn't made so many inroads to his world precepts as he thought it had.

Still on the tails of his surprised amusement, he turned to look at Erik. The man stood with his arms crossed like a shield across his body. He looked sternly at Charles. The telepath smiled at him a little more widely. "It is pretty funny. You never realize exactly how insidious prejudice is until something makes you see it," he coaxed.

Erik was plainly unconvinced. "Beyond the sleeping arrangements, which you seem rather caught on, Professor," he began in a cold voice that nonetheless conveyed exactly how obnoxious he thought Charles was, "I am concerned with the compromising of this operation. Your government is not so faithful as they'd like you to think."

All of Erik's deep feelings and horrifying memories lay behind his deceptively plain statement; Charles could sense them, caressing their mental connection like water lapping away at his skin. It was impossible not to shudder.

_Oh, how easily I can be distracted from the main target!_ he thought, frustrated with himself. Erik was right; the barest hint of titillation and he was haring off on the mental track of male and female relations. It was inexcusable to let their objectives take the back seat even for a moment. He huffed, annoyed. Obviously, he was going to have to do something about his sexual dry spell before it started having serious effects.

He offered Erik a quick, but sincere _sorry_, and laid back on the bed to wait.

* * *

><p>A small click announced the unlocking of the bathroom door. The agent emerged, now clad in long striped pajamas, buttons done all the way up to her throat, and smiled solicitously at them.<p>

"I see you were good boys. I do so hate sharing a bed – I hope for your sake neither of you kick." With a delicate flick that was definitely not a natural movement for such a bold woman, she turned back the cheap motel coverlet and climbed directly into the center of the bed.

The silence that had reigned between Charles and Erik since the former had apologized for becoming distracted continued for a moment before Charles rose from his spot at the end of the other bed. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out. "Guess there's nothing for it," he said, entering the recently vacated bathroom.

Erik chose not to respond. He was – uncomfortable. If that was the word for it. He neither trusted nor distrusted the woman, liked nor disliked her. She was merely there; someone to be calculated into his plans, but never a main part of the equation. Her presence in it of itself was alarming, but she personally was not. In all candidness, he would choose her over any other government personnel – her attachment to Charles was a useful thing – yet still, the fact remained that she was American Intel.

More pertinent to his personal discomfort (since it now seemed that he considered things like that) was her being in the room. It was hard enough to sleep in the dorms with Charles, to whom he seemed inextricably linked, let alone with a CIA agent. A female one at that. He'd never spent the entire night in the company of a woman. In the small, unblemished part of his soul, there was still something sacred about that. Something about the warmth of love and worth of honor. And although they were not sleeping together, and Charles was there too, the uneasiness remained.

He sat on the particle board desk (what _was_ the CIA's budget for this? He'd been in nicer hostels), waiting for the professor and keeping an eye on the shape of the woman. From the uneven movements of her blanket, he could see that she was still awake, but even so he was not expecting her to speak.

"It isn't me you should be worrying about you know," she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

If his unease was sufficiently apparent for MacTaggert to notice it, then his self control really was fraying. That damned telepath. Going about and reactivating people's humanity. _He's a menace_, Erik thought, savoring the irony of that statement.

"Your government does not worry me, Agent MacTaggert," he addressed the lumpy shape under the covers.

"Wasn't what I meant," she said with a frustrated breath. "Good night, Erik."

The sound of her breathing dropped into that of sleep. Either she was pretending or really had dozed off; the effect was the same regardless. The conversation was ended.

He sat on the side of the vacant bed. Agitated, he ran his hands through his hair. A childhood habit which seemed to have resurfaced. What was the agent's aim? What had she meant? If he shouldn't worry about her or the government, then who should he worry about?

Charles? He froze. Was MacTaggert intimating that the professor was untrustworthy in some way? That seemed to be the only answer, based on the timing and nature of the conversation. If he were the sort of man who laughed indiscriminately, he might have done so then. Instead, he slid off his boots and leaned back into the stiff pillows_. If the government's plan is to sow distrust between Charles and me_, he thought, closing his eyes for only a minute, _they are to be sorely disappointed._

* * *

><p>"Sorry for being a bathroom hog," Charles said, toweling his hair, "I didn't realize I needed a shower that badly…"<p>

His voice trailed off as he got a good look at his companions. Moira was sleeping in a fetal bundle beneath the sheets and Erik – well, Erik was asleep too, fully dressed and stretched out a top the coverlet, half sitting up on the pillows with his hands loosely clasped at his waist_. _

_Figures_, the professor thought, _he even sleeps sternly_. But the idea had no real force, for Charles' attention was far too taken with the sight of the other mutant. He realized he'd never really seen Erik asleep. He stayed up later than Charles and rose earlier too, to do his blasted morning exercises.

_It's a pity I never get up_, Charles mused,_ for he's even handsomer when his face relaxes_.

The professor's towel suddenly bunched in fingers clenched by surprise. _Even handsomer? Really?_ Charles was surprised with himself. Of course he'd noted Erik's attractiveness (it was rather hard not to notice after all, though the man himself did a respectable job of it), but it was from an objective standpoint, one human noticing another.

It was tempting to pawn off this new awareness as something planted in his head by the silly assumptions of Raven, Hank, and come to think of it, Moira, but he knew it wasn't true. If it were, his fingers wouldn't itch to touch and his throat wouldn't be clenched at the thought of climbing into bed. Climbing in, waking him up, moving skin and touch on and around and down and under and over and everywhere in between. Ahem. That was quite enough. Really, this dry spell was bad for him. Made his imagination fly out of bounds. Because that's where this realization would remain – in the realm of fantasy. Charles wasn't one to declare things impossible, but he knew Erik. Maybe even better than he knew Raven. Nothing would happen between them, the other man was simultaneously far too experienced and far too naïve.

With what he told himself was really only a little effort, Charles turned his contemplation from Erik to the bed upon which he lay. Hoping very much not to wake his companion and perhaps have to engage in an awkward conversation that he did not have the energy for, the professor slid carefully under the covers on the vacant side of the bed. He noticed with some faint, morbid amusement that Erik had taken the side nearest the door; what a protective husband he would make.

Oh Gods, what sort of floodgate had he unwittingly opened?

* * *

><p>The next morning Moira found Erik sitting alone at a table in the small café adjoining the motel. Even if she hadn't known him, she would have noticed him. There was something about the intense way he read the local newspaper that drew the attention of waitresses and patrons alike. Inexplicably annoyed with the looks he was receiving, she sat in the empty chair across from him.<p>

"Morning, darling," she drawled, earning herself a glare from around the paper.

"Moira," he said carefully. It was a slight shock to hear him say her name, but then, he could hardly call her Agent MacTaggert in a crowded restaurant.

A small blonde waitress bustled up, trying to measure Moira covertly, but not entirely successful in hiding her scrutiny. "Morning, ma'am. _Your mister's_ only wanting coffee this morning. What would you like?"

Oh, fishing. Moira understood that. The careful emphasis and unvoiced question. If you weren't a telepath, it was a necessary evil.

But the way the chit looked at Erik was a bit too familiar and any sympathy the agent had had was gone. So she smiled a languorous sort of smile and said, "Only coffee, darling? How like a man. I know I need a full breakfast after last night."

She turned to the waitress and gave her the sort of look she often saw women exchange amongst themselves – a facsimile of sisterhood in which she'd never engaged – and was rewarded by a tight smile and a jealous turn of back. Well, that was that at least.

Not even Erik's thunderhead look dimmed her satisfaction at a manipulation well played. "Quiet," she hissed, "She was going to flirt outrageously with you all morning otherwise and, really, I have no interest in waiting for you to tumble her out back before we can get on with all the things we have to do today," Moira ended her lecture sternly.

His expression was now positively glacial. "You wouldn't have had to either way," he told her in a controlled tone.

Hmmm… that control spoke volumes. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed the woman's behavior. It did seem that the intricacies of human interactions were largely lost on him. _Charles, you fool_, she thought, _for your own sake, couldn't you have fallen for a nice simple co-ed?_

"At any rate," she continued, brushing aside their previous conversation, "I have some files that you two will need to go over and then you're going to want to come up with a plan for first contact. Charles is usually good at that sort of thing, but you should really have a say in it too."

Erik nodded. It was an acknowledgment that he had heard her at the very least. A good sign.

"Although, I might have something that would work already in mind," she mused, a wonderful, horrible idea blooming, as she watched the flirtatious girl carrying her breakfast to their table.

From the relative safety of behind his paper, Erik found that he did_ not_ care for the wickedness of her sudden grin. Not at all.

* * *

><p><strong>I feel a bit like a not-very-good knight who's been sent to slay a dragon and against all odds finds himself successful. The villagers all thought he was going to die, you see, so it's entirely possible that they skipped town whilst he distracted the beast. So possibly there won't be anyone who cares to hear his news that the dragon's been vanquished and business as usual can resume...<strong>

**I hope that there are still some of you are willing to read this story still and enjoyed the defeat of the chapter-that-would-not-be-written.**


	13. Plans

**Warning: Contains instances of derogatory language and sexual content. Nothing much to get excited about, but I thought I should warn you anyway.**

**Beta'd by the one, the only, moviesaremagic.**

* * *

><p><strong>Plans<strong>

* * *

><p>Charles hadn't quite understood before now how Moira never kept a partner for longer than six months, himself excluded. He had supposed it was the elevated sexism pervasive in her line of work or even the unfriendliness she exhibited at first meetings, but he, as it turned out, was wrong.<p>

It had nothing to do with any of that.

It was her delight in torture, thinly disguised as "plans" that did her partners in.

"For the last time, Moira, neither Erik nor I will pose as employees at _that place_. We will get to the girl through other means. Maybe dropping by her house… or something," Charles finished weakly.

"You don't seem to have any problem _patronizing_ a place like that," Moira said, her voice dangerously calm. "I can't imagine why it would bother you to work there for the night."

There she went again, hitting him right in the soft spot – his tendency toward double standards. God, he really needed to work on bettering his wise and all-knowing persona.

And from the waves of satisfaction rolling off of her, the damned agent knew it too. It wasn't helping matters that Erik's amusement twanged across his senses. Teaming up against him were they?

Charles felt a stab of… something at the thought. It had been surprisingly awful to walk into the café and see the two of them acting as lovers, Moira attempting to cajole Erik into eating toast and him looking at her with a friendly sort of exasperation in his eyes. Erik's eyes hardly ever broadcasted friendliness.

It had been worse yet to discover that they'd come up with a plan – together. Well, alright, it had actually been Moira who thought out the whole thing, but Erik had listened without objection, correcting her when the logistics seemed fuzzy, but otherwise seeming to enjoy her overly-enthusiastic notions. Charles could happily strangle them both, but then, where would that leave mutant kind? Mutanity?

No, he had better focus or he was going to end up serving cocktails to men of questionable taste (oh, fine, himself included among their numbers occasionally) who wanted more than fancy drinks... That was it!

He jumped up from his perch at the end of the bed excitedly. Men like him, men who would frequent the sort of establishment where their first mutant recruit worked –

"No, pretending to be 'waiters,' " he twitched his fingers in an air quote at the word, "probably won't guarantee that we get time with her or gain her confidence." He smiled widely at Moira, who was watching him with distrust. "We'll have to be paying customers if we want her alone."

_Goddamn it. That would work much better_, she thought, thoroughly annoyed.

_You've just admitted it_, Charles broadcast to her, grinning. _I win_.

"Fucking pig," muttered Moira, not loud enough for it to be taken as a real insult, but certainly loud enough for Charles to hear it as he bounded to the bathroom in triumph.

Without stopping, Charles extended his middle finger to herand Erik surprised them all by laughing. It was a short sort of laugh that he quickly turned into a cough, but it was too late; both of his companions had heard it.

The telepath grinned at him. There was hope for Frankenstein's monster yet.

* * *

><p>Erik did not understand their way of planning. If it had been his decision, he and Charles would have approached the girl somewhere she was isolated, but comfortable, her home perhaps as Charles had started to suggest, (what were locks to him?), and put things to her in terms that made very clear her refusal would not be taken kindly. Not with a threat, precisely. He would not hold her loved ones as collateral or interfere in her life beyond the duration of their interview; their intrusion into her safe place should be sufficiently alarming to her without those sorts of theatrics. But he wasn't above a highly suggestive message that would make joining the rest of her people far more appealing than not. It was always useful to know when the government had your name taken down as a person of interest.<p>

He would have preferred to go alone of course, but Charles would in all likelihood find him at an inopportune moment and bungle things if left unattended and in the dark. And his skills could undoubtedly prove useful in a tight situation. How could anything go wrong when his companion could stop time?

But alas, he had not been consulted and, as he was not one for offering opinions where they were not wanted, he found himself entering a most distasteful sort of establishment and standing closer to Charles than was strictly necessary. It was in order that they might convince the bouncer to rent the room to them together, against the club's policy, that they had to portray themselves convincingly enough as the sort of men who would be interested in such a thing, but Erik was strangely glad of the pretense. Rationally, he knew that Charles' presence did not change anything about the circumstances in which he found himself (and they were circumstances that made him briefly engage the thought of eliminating all of the disgusting people keeping young women and men in this sort of depraved servitude), still, his presence did make Erik feel less sullied.

_Funny that a murderer could feel dirtied_, he thought, although really, it wasn't funny in the least.

"Not funny at all, mate," said Charles, casually slinging his arm across Erik's shoulder.

He tensed, but then slowly relaxed. It was all part of the plan.

"Don't worry, we'll get this over and done with as soon as we can. And you're right," Charles added in undertone as they approached the bouncer, "this is awful. What did I ever see in these places?"

Quickly, he straightened up and smiled at the tallish, muscle packed man guarding the back hall where the private rooms were. Erik assessed him with a scan of his eyes. Experienced, but lacking flexibility or agility (mental and physical). His muscles were more of a hindrance than a help. As was the gun poorly concealed in his jacket - not with eyes as short-sighted as his squint suggested. Assessment: not a threat.

Charles addressed him with an unctuous sort of deference anyway.

"My man," he began, using a passable American accent, "me and my friend here, wanna get ourselves a room for an hour or two, if it goes good." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The bouncer had the decency to look faintly disgusted with Charles' slime.

"We rent the rooms out to one at a time. Our gir-" he eyed Charles' hand around Erik's shoulder, "staff don't do groups."

"C'mon," the professor wheedled, "we're not into anything that'll damage the merchandise. I like to watch is all. If I pay for two rooms, but we only take one, that's a profit to you."

Charles waved a small stack of bills in the air. The muscle man was clearly struggling between taking the money or telling them to split, but in the end of the internal debate, which was notable only for existing at all, the money won out. He snatched the cash and counted it with practiced hands.

"Alright. Room Three for two hours. After that, I'm kicking you the fuck out of here, so you'd better enjoy it. Fucking faggots."

Erik would have killed him, but Charles was moving him along, and simpering _thanks_ to the bouncer.

They were in. Charles didn't remove his arm. Erik wondered if the plan had called for that, but he didn't think the telepath would keep touching him without purpose, whatever the bouncer said, so he didn't voice his protest. He hadn't been consulted about the plan after all.

* * *

><p>Room Three was as tacky as Charles had imagined it'd be. Red velvet hangings on the walls instead of a proper door, red bed with red plush headboard, black checkered floors and a side table full of second rate champagne. He shouldn't have been surprised when he saw the mirror on the ceiling, but then, who's ever prepared to see themselves lying in a bordello bed, next to the person they currently desire most, while said person remains totally still and oblivious. Well, at least he wasn't having a heart attack like Charles feared he might when he told him the rest of the plan (mind to mind in the interest of secrecy).<p>

Instead of freaking out, he'd gone very still and said only, _Ja_, when Charles asked if he was going to be able to do it. The _Ja_ had been contemptuous (_of course I'll carry it out; it's for the cause, isn't it, _said Erik's thoughts), but beneath it was the stillness, the coldness that Charles had come to dislike sensing in his friend's mind. It was his killing place, it had to be, but it also appeared every time he used his mutation. Charles understood why killing and mutancy had become linked in Erik's psyche, but it bothered him that it should be so. Hadn't Erik said only last night that his sister should get rid of "the stupid thing in her head" that made her feel inferior? He didn't believe that Erik felt inferior exactly, but the man had some self-acceptance to work on himself.

Hmm… Charles was going to have to look later. Not now though, because the wall hangings were moving, revealing a darkly beautiful girl - and it was show time.

"Hell no," the girl said, her hand stilling on the curtain. "Goddamn Sal, he knows the rule about groups."

Charles smiled at her, his hands crossed lazily behind his head. "Oh, sweet Angel, we are so much more than that. If you'd be so kind as to close that drapery."

The telepath touched her stubborn mind briefly and she obediently dropped the fabric. Sure that she was not going to run away, he let her go and turned his attention to ensuring that no one would notice or interrupt them. "Good, very good. Now, Erik, unto you."

If Charles hadn't believed that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, he might have forgotten all about barricading them from any wandering minds and the fact that he needed Erik on his side to save said world, because Erik smiled at the girl and it was devastation, pure and simple. He was no longer lying stiff and poker-like at the professor's side. He was languidly, supplely, and arrogantly lounging.

His mind was calculating and goal-driven as always, but his body language was so seductive, so sensual the telepath almost didn't believe the disconnection was real. Charles hadn't realized that Erik was that good of an actor. God, he didn't know whether it would be better to unleash this power or keep it as far away and restrained as mutantly possible.

Erik began the speech, but the girl and Charles were already sucked in.

"So," he said, flicking his wrist and elevating the metal posts of the bed away from the steel frame beneath the concrete floor, "I'll show you mine," his wrist flicked again and the champagne bucket floated into his waiting hands, "if," (good God, was that a purr?), "you show me yours."

* * *

><p>Not even the presence of a flying prostitute or her successful recruitment could resuscitate Charles from the waking death he seemed to have stumbled into. He was beyond fucked. Erik could be sexy <em>on<em> _purpose_; seemingly at the drop of a hat. His damnable attraction had managed to grow despite all of the professor's efforts to stifle it when Erik had only been being innocently sexy; what the hell was he going to do if he started doing it on purpose?

He was going to launch himself into an even deeper circle of hell, that's what. No, this had to be checked now, before it spread any further.

No more semi-, demi-, hemi-, or any fraction of seductions. Nope, straight business from now on.

He couldn't be held responsible for what may happen otherwise.

* * *

><p>Moira looked up, startled, as Charles burst into the hotel room.<p>

"Hey," she said in cautious greeting, but she was drowned out by the professor's shouting.

"No more acting. None, you hear me? None of your silly plans. All plans will be decided and approved by me from this point hence!"

"You _did_ come up with the plan for tonight," she pointed out mildly, but Charles didn't seem to hear her. She was sure that he did, but instead of answering he rushed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was a loud sort of bang as though he'd knocked over the soap.

"Didn't go well?" she asked Erik sympathetically.

"We were successful," the stone man told her. "The girl agreed to be transported to base; provided that she is going to be kept in comfort free of charge and that more of her kind join her. I do not think she is strong, but I think she is a start."

It was the longest speech she'd ever heard him give, but she supposed that triumph could make even the most stoic of men chatty. Plus, his partner had ducked out, leaving him alone to field her questions.

"So what ails His Majesty?"

Erik shook his head. "I am unsure. Something about acting, perhaps."

Well, duh, she'd gathered that much from his little outburst.

"It seems you did well enough to get the girl. Why would he be bothered by the performance?"

"Some parts were," there was a slight hesitation, "uncomfortable. Agent MacTaggert, how are we going to safely transport the girl to the base?"

The change in subject was abrupt enough to give her whiplash. So Erik'd been "uncomfortable" too. Aha. She was going to hound Charles until she got the truth. Or was telepathically silenced, whichever came first.

"Hmm," she said, giving him a break and turning her mind to the logistical problem. "Initially, I planned on Mr. A being able to send us a transport team, but it seems from his last message that he's testing the limits of his authority by even letting this operation be carried out with so little supervision. I don't think we'll be able to get one out here in time. Maybe we could send for Hank or Raven?"

Erik tilted his head, considering. "Charles would not like it. It makes sense, but he does not necessarily think of sense. He thinks of feeling."

"Agreed," she said. "Do you know how much I've had to change my plans in the past year just to get around that bleeding heart of his? How much more efficient would it have been to show up at that girl's hidey-hole and make things clear to her?"

Moira didn't think that she should be comforted by the fact that the coldest blooded murder she'd encountered in her career agreed with her with an appreciative look in his eyes, but, then again, it was nice to have kinship. Charles was an excellent work partner in a lot of ways, but he didn't have the necessary steel for the job. He was too idealistic, soaring above the world on the lofty paths of intelligence and telepathy. Human conflict wasn't truly material to him; he thought that if he was cunning enough and convincing enough, he could stop any sort of disagreement.

Moira knew her government; she was part of it and she generally supported its agenda, but above all that, she _knew_ it. As soon as mutants stopped being a crackpot theory proposed by a madman, there was going to be strife, maybe, if the mutants had strength enough, war. Such a threat could not be allowed to exist. She knew, and Erik knew, that they were running two races; one against Sebastian Shaw and another against the government. Moira wasn't entirely sure where she stood, but she wanted to do everything in her power to give her friends a fighting chance.

And so if Erik, confirmed and unapologetic assassin, agreed that Charles was not sufficiently ruthless, then it was for the better. How much damage could he do when it was clear that he was chained to Professor Xavier, even more tightly than herself, more tightly than Raven, more tightly than any two people she'd ever read about, heard about, or seen?

"Guess we're on the same page then. Let's keep humoring His Majesty and I'll escort the girl back to base," Moira said with more resignation than bite.

Erik looked at her and what might have been the ghost of a smile crossed his face. Suddenly Moira saw how Charles could have fallen for him the way he had, which was to say like a stone. It was satisfying in a particular sort of way to receive a response from a man so distant, with such a sense of barely restrained ferality. Poor Professor, Erik had probably done something unexpectedly seductive and shorted out the telepath's brain. She was torn between sympathy and the urge to laugh. She had warned him, but when had he ever heeded anyone's counsel?

* * *

><p>Charles could hear them, even in the shower, but he focused on the feel of the water pounding onto his skin, trying to ignore his friends. It helped that the pipes in this shower were almost criminally squeaky and that his mind was already frazzled. He could never shut himself off completely, but it was always a relief when he could make it quieter for a bit.<p>

What a night he'd had. It was a success, technically, but he didn't really feel that he'd accomplished anything. Anything beyond falling deeper into something he'd sworn himself to keeping out of, that is. He needed to focus on what was important. Angel was going to join them and that was grand; his fellow mutants came first. They had to. Selflessness was one of the traits a good leader was required to have if he's going to take care of his people properly. Not that he wanted to be an absolute leader, but they would need guidance and support. He supposed that Erik would handle the protection details, considering his paranoid and aggressive streaks. Erik…

Damn it all, there he went thinking about it. The purring "if," the playful tilt of his head, the feel of his weight on the other side of the mattress…

Charles could feel his blood rushing. Rushing to places it should not go when thinking of one's respected friend and partner who was going to help one save the world. But his body wasn't listening.

It was too much, and too long since he'd had sex, and he was only human, no matter how superior he acted like he was. He wasn't opposed to masturbation. He'd done it plenty throughout his life, whether he was having regular sex or not. He was a scientist and he knew it was perfectly natural. Despite what mothers and churches were telling everyone, you wouldn't contract hairy palms or be damned to Hell.

This though, despite the pleasing physical sensations wrought by his practiced hand, felt wrong, shameful somehow. Not because of Erik's being another man, but simply because of Erik being Erik. When they'd been in the bordello, Erik had felt dirty, unclean. It had been through his revulsion that Charles became revolted himself. What he'd said was true; it wasn't funny that a murderer had felt violated. While he still didn't agree with Erik's tendency to take things into his own hands or think that he could take another's life, he didn't think the executions had tainted him beyond hope. They'd shaken the core of what made him human, as the minds of all the murderers he'd encountered were shaken, but he was still largely intact. His own innate honor had kept him clean and his solitary lifestyle had kept him apart. Erik wasn't infected with other vices of man, like Charles was. He wasn't tempted to drink to excess, to eat to excess, to possess more than he needed, or to covet goods or women. He was arrogant in his own way, but it was born from a sense of aloof self-sufficiency. Erik probably never had to remind himself to put his mission before his personal desires.

That was why this felt wrong, Charles realized, panting and slowing his ministrations; because he didn't want to do anything that would make Erik feel the same sick way he had earlier tonight. He respected him. His friend deserved better than a one off wank in the shower to thoughts of him curled up in bed. If Charles was going to keep having these feelings, that was fine by him, but he was going to fight his body into agreeing with his mind even if his ideals killed him.

One part satisfied and one part dreading it, he cemented his newest conviction. He grabbed the temperature knob and wrenched it to the bottom of the blue line. The now freezing water was an absolute deluge of agony, but he thought that it ought to help him out nicely.

* * *

><p>A strangled yelp came from the bathroom. Moira looked up from her packing and over at him.<p>

"He's been in there a while. You should knock and see if he's okay," she said. Erik could tell that it wasn't really a suggestion.

A week ago he would have ignored her, but today, she was his ally. He went and knocked on the door.

"Have you injured yourself?" he asked the shabby wood paneling.

"No, no, quite alright, just cooling off, good for the skin," came the garbled response.

Erik frowned at the door. "Alright," he said and gave the watching Moira a slight shrug.

She raised her shoulders in return and went back to gathering the files that had mysteriously found their way to all parts of the room. Erik did not think he wanted to see what Charles' home in England looked like; he predicted it was in total disarray. Disarray which would make his head hurt from the sheer inefficiency of the telepath's organizational systems.

Moira bent to retrieve the last manila envelope from its place beneath the professor's side of the bed. Impatient, she blew a strand of her mussed hair out of her eyes. Erik had noted that she didn't coif her hair into the stiff, elaborate styles he saw on most women. Most likely for convenience on her job, but, he hypothesized, also affected by her rejection of traditional female trappings; indeed, the single concession she seemed to make was wearing skirts. Of all traditions to adhere to, he thought that wearing a skirt was the most impractical. They significantly hampered mobility and therefore, combat abilities. Though, he conceded, there was a limit to the amount of disregard she could have before it became a hindrance in it of itself. Few people were inclined to aid or cooperate with a female who transgressed too far.

Unexpectedly, he thought of the camps, specifically his times with the deviant guard; there had been other children there, he knew. Other children who suffered as he did, but more so, not having the protection of the Herr Docktor. He clenched his jaw. Now that he was a man, he was generally safe. He thought of the girl who had come to them yesterday, with her wary eyes and child-like happiness when she ascertained they did not want sex. Moira crossed the floor, putting the last few things in her travel bag. Erik watched the exposed calves of her legs.

"Okay, pretty sure that's everything." She wiped a hand across her forehead. The turn of her wrist revealed fragile blue veins. "He'll probably have already heard everything, but run down our plan with him again, okay? I'll collect our new friend and see she gets safely back and meet you at the next location in roughly three days."

Settling tinted glasses on her face and hefting her bag, the woman walked toward the door.

Erik wasn't aware he had intended to speak until the words were out of his mouth.

"Agent MacTaggert, be careful."

She quirked her lips at him, confused.

"I'd say don't worry, but I know you don't. So I'll say, thank you and that I intend to be."

Erik nodded, satisfied with her answer, and then she was gone. He looked at the door, thinking. He thought that he had been considering protection for his people, but it occurred to him now that he had very little in the way of actual experience when it came to protecting. Eliminating targets yes, but guarding the safety of a person from another who would threaten it, no. He had looked at the agent's thin legs and remembered his mother, who had been taken against all reason when they had at last thought themselves safely hidden. What fragile creatures all humans were.

The bathroom door opened. Normally steam would have streamed out behind Charles, but it was absent. Erik spoke without looking at him. "Agent MacTaggert is escorting Angel. It is only you and me for the next mission."

For a long moment, there was no reply, but then the professor breathed a small _oh_ and the other man turned to look at him. Charles leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, his wrinkled hands gripping the towel about his waist and water beading his skin. His ribs moved with the rhythm of his breath. There was a bluish cast to his skin, like he'd been under the cold water longer than was wise.

Looking at him, it occurred to Erik that maybe Charles was as fragile as the rest of them. And that was fine; Erik had already decided that he would be strong enough to protect him too.

* * *

><p><strong>So maybe I could have a reasonable career in knighthood ahead of me. Who knew?<strong>

**Please leave your thoughts in exchange for another chapter-cum-dragon carcass.**


	14. Deposit

**Beta'd by moviesaremagic. Yay!**

* * *

><p><strong>Deposit<strong>

* * *

><p>Moira did not much like the look of the girl waiting at the bus station. Everything about her was indiscreet, from her man's leather jacket to her mini-skirt. If this was the future of women's clothing, she was glad that she'd be an old lady soon enough and exempt from fashion.<p>

Though, she conceded, pushing her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, she _would_ like to wear pants. And while she was at it underwear that didn't require buckles and straps. She got closer to the girl and noticed a conspicuous absence of lumps from said foundational garments. Apparently their first mutant had decided to evolve in more ways than one.

Repressing a sniff that would have made her maiden aunts proud, Moira finished approaching the young lady and extended her hand to her. "Miss Salvadore, nice to meet you. If you'll follow me, the car's around back."

Angel eyed her hand with distaste, but eventually took it. "I thought Erik was coming," she said, looking behind the agent as though she had him secreted at her back.

"Afraid not," Moira told her crisply. "Again, if you'll follow me."

The girl rocked back onto her heels. "Fine," she muttered, slinging a woeful looking satchel over her shoulder. Satisfied that she would be obeyed, Moira proceeded to slip through the crowed terminal and out the backdoor to the small parking lot where their car awaited.

From what Mr. A had said, Moira understood Charles to be collecting only a few mutants, those he thought could be of aid in thwarting Shaw. Miss Salvadore did not look promising. She was thin, surly, and possibly emotionally unstable. They'd recruited her from a glorified whorehouse for goodness sake. Did Charles honestly expect that she was going to make a good soldier?

No, in all likelihood, he had not thought about whether or not his chosen crew were going to be of any use in battle. He still didn't really believe that war was coming.

Moira rolled her suddenly tight shoulders and unlocked the trunk of the inconspicuous black car. The girl came up behind her and dumped her bag with a muffled flump. The agent internally winced in sympathy for the surely battered belongings and put her own gear more gently into place.

"So where're we going?" asked the girl as MacTaggert closed the trunk and went around to the driver's side door.

Moira favored her with one of her crocodile smiles. "Nowhere you've been before."

"Fucking fantastic," the mutant said, slouching into her seat.

Agent MacTaggert found that though she could disagree with the phrasing, she couldn't much disagree with the sentiment.

* * *

><p>"Could you maybe sit down?" Hank asked Raven, whose nervous pacing was distracting him from finishing off a complicated set of equations.<p>

She glared at him but acquiesced. The scientist let out a huff of air and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He liked Raven, he really did, but she'd been in an awful mood since her brother had left. One minute she was fine and the next she was snapping at everyone in her vicinity. Frankly, Hank found it exhausting.

Particularly since it seemed he had been appointed her erstwhile keeper. He was a scientist, gosh darn it, not a babysitter and it was impossible to get any work done with Raven skulking about a good sixty percent of the time.

The other forty percent of her time was divided between sleeping and disappearing to do Lord knew what. Sometimes she wasn't around and he didn't know where she went. He liked that even less than he liked watching her, but because she always turned up unharmed within a few hours he didn't ask her about it.

Raven was a slightly wild thing, and like any of her undomesticated brethren liked to spend time out-of-doors and unaccounted for. He wondered if she ever snuck out when Professor Xavier was sleeping – that was to say if she ever felt the need to sneak around him. Their argument aside, it was obvious that the professor was overly indulgent with the girl. Hank had a feeling that her slightly spoiled attitude coupled with her feral streak was going to get them all into a mess of trouble one of these days.

After sitting for barely a minute Raven sprang up and resumed her pacing circuit. Hank gave up on his work with a groan and buried his head in folded arms. If this was what all women were like, he wanted none of it. None. He'd be perfectly content to die alone save for his contributions to science.

"Knock it off," said Raven. "You've been doing those horrid things for way too long anyway. Moira's message said they'd be here an hour ago. What if something's happened?"

Hank resolutely kept his head down. He was quite aware of how late the agent was and it worried him too. Agent MacTaggert had a reputation for punctuality; it did not bode well that she was this far behind.

"Pacing won't help them," he said to the tabletop, half hoping that Raven would hear him as well. If she did, she gave no sign of it and continued on her infinite shuffling loop. There was going to be a hole worn clean through the concrete if the agent didn't turn up by tomorrow, he was sure of it.

Hank was considering giving it up and taking his companion outside, which usually helped to calm her down, when the double doors of his personal workspace swung wide, revealing a peevish looking Moira closely followed by a girl around his age.

He blinked. He'd thought that Raven dressed flashily; next to this girl, she was positively demure. Her skirt revealed far more of her tanned thighs than he knew to be decent and one look at her chest made clear that she eschewed, um, lady garments. He snapped his eyes up to her pretty, if heavily made-up face before he noticed anything he ought not to notice.

Apparently he had not been fast enough though, because the girl gave him a smoky sort of smile and winked. He could feel the blood pounding in his cheeks and he wished for the umpteenth time that he didn't blush like a storybook maiden all the time.

"Moira!" said Raven and with a bound she was across the floor, grabbing the surprised agent in a tight hug. "I was so worried something'd gone wrong. Charles isn't good unsupervised."

Agent MacTaggert awkwardly patted the girl's back and gave Hank a flummoxed look. The scientist shrugged. That was Raven – dramatic and oddly affectionate.

"We had car trouble," Moira said, pulling out of Raven's embrace. "For once, Charles didn't do anything."

"You can say that again," the stranger said. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and met Raven's glare with a mean sort of smile. "Left his friend to do all the work. Can't say I blame him though, that guy's one fine piece of ass. I wouldn't think straight if I was in bed with him either."

Hank was forcibly reminded of cats circling one another when Raven stepped away from the agent and inspected the new girl through narrowed eyes. Yep, dying alone was a much better alternative to dealing with women.

"Who's this?" Raven asked Moira, her gaze never leaving the girl.

"Angel Salvadore," interrupted the stranger, "nice to meet you."

"Angel, I'm Raven. And if you say one more thing about my brother, I'm probably going to bash your fucking head in." Raven smiled a smile as sweet as it was deadly and the hackles on Hank's neck stuck right up.

"Oooooh," breathed Angel, shaking her dark head. "Fuck. I thought maybe he was your guy with your whole wifey act. And if he was your guy, then, girl, someone had to tell you to fucking let go of that. I'm sorry."

Raven sniffed, not entirely mollified, but Hank found the air somewhat less oppressive. The shape-shifter pointlessly adjusted her sleeve and pulled in a deep breath, visibly curbing her hostility. "Either way," she told the stranger, "remember that I meant what I said. Are you the newest mutant or what?"

"Guess so," Angel said, looking suddenly very small. "About time somebody came around collecting the freaks. Maybe I won't be so weird next to them." She swept her eyes around the room, as if she expected boogie-men to spring from the storage closed. "Where are they anyways?"

Hank felt a little more sympathetic for her automatically (really, how could she help the fact that she'd noticed Professor Xavier's, um, peculiar attitude towards Erik – an attitude that was blindingly apparent to the rest of them?) and smiled at her.

"We're them," he said, kindly. "Raven and I, we're the only others so far. I'm Hank by the way."

Angel's eyes pinged back and forth between them in horrified disbelief. "Goddamn it," she said, leaning up against the doorpost, "I always do the exact wrong things, don't I?"

There came from Raven an unexpected trill of laughter and everyone turned to her. "Don't worry," she told Angel, "so do I. You should have been here for me'n'Charles' showdown. That takes the cake." Her laughter gained strength and surprisingly, Angel began to giggle along with her.

"Girl, you don't know how many times I've gotten slapped in my 'bitch-ass' mouth," said the newcomer through her increasingly loud laughter. "I shoulda been paid for that instead."

"Forget that, we should say whatever the hell we want," said Raven.

She went over to Angel, motioning for the girl to follow her out of the room. "Unless it's about my brother, of course," she said, a note of warning slipping into her friendly tone.

"Course," agreed Angel.

Raven turned to MacTaggert. "Moira, is it okay for us to go to bed? We can get everything sorted in the morning. You'll be here, right?"

The agent sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I'll be here."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Raven and Angel swept out of the room, trailing giggles behind them. For a few seconds the two of them looked after the departed girls; Hank felt like he'd been unfairly hit by something he couldn't see.

Agent MacTaggert rolled her eyes and looked at him. "Women," she muttered.

Hank agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

><p>Charles dropped dark glasses over his eyes, hoping against all reason that they would be total protection against the blinding light of the sun. Bracing himself, he followed the impatiently waiting Erik outside into the late morning. He sucked in a hissing breath. It was going to be as bad as he had feared.<p>

"Serves you right. Maybe you won't sit out drinking half the night next time," Erik said. The other man's thoughts were torn between amusement and annoyance. Charles wanted to tell him that it was all his bloody fault he had turned to alcohol to begin with, but refrained. He wasn't fool enough to start a land war in Asia.

"Maybe," he said, wincing at the sound the car doors made as they shut. The professor leaned his head back against the seat, wishing for Moira's chaperone-like presence. "I don't suppose we could stop for some aspirin?"

"No," said Erik. He backed smoothly out of the parking space and shifted into drive.

Charles slumped against the door. "I didn't think so."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, they did stop. Not for aspirin, but for the professor to throw up on the side of the road. Twice. Erik watched his friend straighten and wipe his mouth with another handkerchief he had produced from nowhere. Handkerchief's made adequate bandages in a hurry; good to know they had a ready supply secreted about Charles' person.<p>

"I think I'll be alright now," panted Charles, coming up to Erik's open window. He rested his arms atop the car's frame and hung his head through the empty space.

Erik peered at him over his sunglasses. "That's what you said five miles ago."

"Surely you've been hungover before," Charles said, giving him a glare that lacked its usual force despite its unusual closeness.

The man thought about it. "Nein," he said decisively.

"You're impossible," the professor said, sliding down to rest his head on the bottom of the window's opening.

Erik had a disturbing urge to tousle his hair. Though he kept his treacherous fingers firmly in his lap, he took pity on Charles. "If you don't stop to vomit for twenty miles, we can break for lunch and aspirin."

His companion looked up, hopeful. "Really? Let me have at it once more and we'll be set."

Erik averted his eyes from the distasteful scene taking place at the back of the car and wondered how it was that this man of all people was who Fate had chosen to be his partner. Bleak sense of humor, Fate had. Another retch came from beyond the trunk. He pulled a face. Bleak humor indeed.

* * *

><p>Airplanes were taking off and landing seemingly at random and it was fascinating to watch them. He sensed the lurching movements of their metal constructions like a tiny surge in his stomach when they came in and a pull when they left. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. On the contrary, it was soothing like an internal rocking. In another life he would have been a pilot.<p>

Beside him Charles groaned, breaking his concentration. "This is awful. My head aches and the cabby's running late, I can't feel him yet, and I'm bored. Booored, I tell you."

Erik didn't know how anyone could be bored when there was so much riding on their actions and he told Charles as much. To which the telepath responded with a sniff and an apology that he didn't find stupid goddamn planes half as interesting as Erik did. Erik thought first and foremost that Charles should keep out of his mind when he was supposed to be listening for their next mutant, and second that it would be better if they didn't speak until their target arrived. Petulant, Charles agreed.

A half hour later found them unmoved and fairly radiating annoyance, until Charles sprang up and said, "He's here."

Erik rose more sedately and the two of them wound their way through the milling people – crying children, anxious mothers, and inconvenienced businessmen – until they came out the airport entrance. There, taxi cabs were queued up, waiting to take weary passengers wherever they needed to go for a fee. Charles pointed out one at the back of the line and they went down the curb to it. Erik's annoyance had dissipated, replaced by the muted excitement he felt on a mission.

"Where're you headed?" asked the cabby as they piled into the backseat. His dark skin shone faintly in the light that spilled from the airport's windows.

Charles leaned forward conspiratorially. "We were hoping you'd tell us."

* * *

><p>The professor's face felt flushed and he was a little bit drunk on the joy of success. They'd gotten the first two - in a row and without much resistance. It seemed that they might be gaining some ground in this race against Shaw. Even Erik's mind hummed with satisfaction. The lights in the hotel lobby seemed to twinkle gaily and Charles barely remembered that just this morning he had cursed all light everywhere and wished for eternal darkness.<p>

A pretty girl behind the desk checked them in and gave them their room key with a bright smile. "Be sure to check out the bar," she said in her experienced sales voice. "It's half priced drinks for the hour."

Well, well, Charles didn't have to be told _that_ twice. Horrible headache aside, there was a cause for celebration; besides, the best way to cure a hangover was to get drunk again. Or at least he was pretty sure he'd read that somewhere. Probably in the handbook that they distributed to all college boys upon their arrival freshman year.

He imagined it was the same book that had led to his making a spectacular ass of himself with girls at parties and waking up with no pants in a fountain on one memorable occasion. All in all, clearly a sound pamphlet for advice.

"A drink to our achievements?" he asked Erik.

The taller man considered. "Only one?" he asked, a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth.

Charles hit him lightly on the arm. "Mr. Lehnsherr, you don't know what you're in for."

* * *

><p>"You sir, cheat," said Charles, indignant on his barstool as he watched Erik sink yet another dart directly into the red center of the board. On unsteady feet he got up to take his turn. Erik stepped aside and Charles took up the tiny missile his friend proffered.<p>

"A magnet can hardly stop aligning north," Erik said, which wasn't a denial.

"Never fucking playing darts with you again," the professor said as he watched his shot quiver in the second outermost ring.

Erik eyed his hit critically. "I don't know that even your being sober would help your game."

Charles waved a sloppy hand at him. "Just because you've got a hollow leg doesn't mean you need to be smug. This has been a doubly unfair game from the start."

"Unfair, is it?" Erik laughed.

The professor whirled to face him and tangled his own legs in the process. He spun to the floor like a lazy top and the bar tender glared at them. Closing time was coming soon and she did not want to clean up any more barf tonight, thanks-very-much. Charles wanted to assure her that he was certainly not in the vomiting stage (yet), but Erik blocked his view of her.

He crouched besides Charles, still laughing a little. "Ready to go now?" he asked.

Charles glared at him through bleary eyes. "Get me up."

"Certainly, Professor." Erik smirked, offering him a hand and half pulling him to his feet.

Charles started out of the bar in something of a pet, but quickly realized that he was going to need help navigating the stairs. Why didn't this bleeding place have an elevator?

Erik strolled to the bottom of the steps and looked at Charles innocently. "Staying down here?"

The telepath gritted his teeth. "Not if you'll aid me. Please."

The metal-manipulator didn't have to say anything; the self-satisfied flavor of his mind was more than enough. "Bastard," Charles said as he used Erik's arm to lever himself up the stairs.

"What's that? You want to sleep here? Not very sensible, but if it's what you want." Erik made as if to step away from the professor, who swayed.

"Sorry, sorry. You are totally legitimate offspring. Now please, get me up to the damn room." Charles was getting grumpy and queasy. He was going to burn that booklet if it ever turned out that it actually existed.

Erik twitched his eyes at Charles' horrible pun, but he finished supporting him to the third floor and down the hallway. He didn't bother fumbling the keys from his pocket; he waved his hand and their room sprang open.

_Two beds_, thought the dismayed professor. Erik gave him a strange look, which made Charles guiltily concerned that he'd broadcast the thought unintentionally. It was likely, considering both how he had a harder time keeping full control over his mutation when he was drunk and that Erik seemed to be particularly sensitive to his telepathy in the first place.

"What?" Charles breathed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

But his companion only shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, depositing Charles on the far bed. "The bags are outside. Will you do anything untoward if left alone?"

Ha, untoward. He liked the sound of that. But Erik was being serious. "I won't move from this spot," Charles told him, his solemnity played up a little more than was necessary.

The German didn't believe him for a second, Charles knew it, but he left him unsupervised anyway. Though he did pointedly lock the door behind him.

_Silly Erik,_ Charles thought as he wriggled back onto the mattress, _I'm not doing anything untoward unless it involves you._

Luckily for him, the professor was asleep before his conscious mind could register its disapproval of that sentiment.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, well, it seems, dear readers, that we meet again. Just wanted to say thanks for your feedback from last chapter and that I have, in what is becoming a grand <em>Ebb and Flow<em> tradition, another proposition for you...**

**Yes, you read correctly, I would like to broker with you a deal. I'm feeling that the next chapter is going to be the last of the "honeymoon" chapters, so leave me a review with a slashy sort of scene that you would like to have included (i.e. _I want to see them share a bed again! But sexier this time._ or _Make them have a pillow fight! Idk how you'll make that in character, but I don't care. _(you get the picture).) The type of idea that appears in the most reviews will win.**

**Where's the catch you ask? Nothing except that I have to get enough reviews to make it worth my while... **

**So now's the time, all you lovely lurkers, to stand up and be counted!**


	15. Intrusion

**Intrusion**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know, it's been soooo long. I still love you though. And you might want to check out the last chapter again cuz this picks up right where that leaves off...<strong>

* * *

><p>The trip from the third floor to the lobby took him half as much time when he wasn't mostly carrying the weight of one inebriated Professor Charles Xavier. Erik decided that next time, for the sake of expedience, he would either carry the telepath entirely or leave him behind and slobbering. Though, it was more likely that Charles would choose to slobber over the surer indignity of being hauled along like a child.<p>

_Good_, Erik thought with a twinge of satisfaction, perhaps after a night passed out in a strange place he would find a desire to cultivate practical drinking habits. He went out the hotel doors, frowning. There was something off with Charles when he imbibed like this. Not only in his strange insistence on actually getting to the point of being drunk, but in his telepathy as well. Erik suspected he was more sensitive to his friend's mutation than others were, but he did not think that Charles' thoughts would be projecting faintly and seemingly without the professor's knowledge into his own mind were he less inebriated.

Erik shook his head. He supposed it was fortuitous that the telepath had been thinking about frivolous things, like the number of beds in the room, and that he hadn't unleashed some sort of psychic assault unto him. The thought of Charles' abilities operating without his conscious control made his nerve endings twitch to life. If ever there arose an occasion for single combat between them, Erik knew there wouldn't be a fight at all. It would be a slaughter – his.

And yet, somehow, he couldn't truly see it happening. He'd left Charles alone in the room, hadn't he? There was something about the man that inspired his trust, as idiotic as that made him feel to admit. And at this point, if they did ever end up on opposite sides, it would be a struggle for him to find it within himself to go through with the fight. How weak.

Erik leaned tiredly against the car, comforted by its solid, steely presence. He thought about his years spent alone with a map marked by murders and wondered where the Herr Docktor was now. Probably cruising through the depths of the ocean, spreading chaos and dissension. He wondered about the diamond woman, who had tortured him on the boat. She had to be some sort of telepath. Nothing like Charles though; he couldn't imagine the haughty professor giving himself over as anyone's lapdog.

Where had the Docktor found her? Any of them? Erik's stomach twisted. There were different ways of being what they were, but he didn't believe that anyone would join up with the Docktor willingly. He could visualize it clearly – the manipulation, the coercion, and the sheer abuse it would have taken to capture and train the powerful mutants in Shaw's entourage.

The coin in his pocket bit into his leg, moving for the first time in days. He straightened up and collected the bags from the trunk of the car. Patience. Freeing the other mutants would make Herr Docktor's death that much more fulfilling.

* * *

><p>Again, Erik didn't bother using the hotel room key. Thinking about Shaw gave him plenty of moody energy and he was glad to channel it somewhere. For a bit of extra relief, he floated the bags into the room and simultaneously flipped on the lamps, which he had left off.<p>

Charles was pressed back against the pillows, asleep with his mouth agape. His breath hissed in and out with a distracting whoosh sound.

Erik let the luggage drop with a muffled flump and sat tiredly at the end of the unoccupied bed. The blankets here felt of a better quality than the last place they'd stayed. He absently ran a hand over its smooth weave and luxuriated in its feeling against his skin, before leaning down to unlace his half boots. Once his shoes were off, he quickly slid out of his slacks and sweater and under the covers.

He was asleep within minutes.

* * *

><p>The scene was familiar. It was summer and Charles was at the smallish lake on the south corner of his family's property. He perched at the edge of the dock, his toes curling around the edge. A man smiled at him from the water, beckoning for Charles to jump.<p>

At first, the telepath thought the man was his stepfather, but the shape of his body wasn't quite right. This man was thinner and paler. His skin was spotted with pale freckles and crossed by the white of old scars.

_ Erik. _

Surprised, Charles thought to take a step back, but Erik beckoned for him again. He smiled and licked his lips with an expression the telepath could see from the dock. Charles' breath caught in his throat. Erik wanted him. His heart beat fast and desire twisted in his stomach. Charles took a deep breath and jumped.

In the air, their eyes connected. But Erik's expression, which had been so seductive only a second before, was changed. He scowled at the telepath as he fell, disgust written in the lines of his face. Charles hit the water.

_Ah_, he thought as he sunk, _so his friend did not want_. He did not know why it should surprise him so, but it did. He could feel his body beginning to scream for air, but he ignored it. Welcomed it even. At least the water hid him from Erik's rejection.

His sight was beginning to go black when he felt hands grabbing his arms. For a moment he thought the hands were trying to force him deeper into the lake and he wanted to laugh. There was no need to urge him toward death, he already welcomed it. But then the hands were pulling, their grip mercilessly tight, and the water seemed to get lighter.

So they were going up. Perhaps the hands were an angel come to collect him? But heaven was the last place he wanted to go. What were the chances Erik would get in? Charles had to laugh at that. Water rushed to fill his open mouth and he went limp entirely in the grip of the hands. If the angel wanted to take him, it was going to have to lug his deadweight.

Haha, dead weight.

* * *

><p>As soon as Erik had fallen asleep, he'd been pulled from his own dreams into those of his neighboring telepath. He didn't know how he knew it was Charles' dream or even that it was a dream, but he did. It was disconcerting to say the least and he still wasn't entirely sure how it had happened. Perhaps in his drunken state the professor had not thought to shield himself or whatever it was he did as a barricade.<p>

Either way, this was unexpected and he was unprepared. It was always better to know the rules of a game before you played. If he knew the system, he could find ways to exploit and defeat it. How did a shared dream work? How did they happen? Did they affect reality?

He didn't know. He started to run down the sloping lawn where he'd been deposited, following some sense that urged him to hurry.

He may not have known the rules of dreams, but he knew fairytales. Wherever he ran, Charles was sure to be at the end of his journey.

The ground disappeared under his feet at a pace that wasn't humanly possible. He chanced a look back and saw only a grey mist. Everything behind him had ceased to exist. A shudder rolled across his skin and he increased his already impossible pace. There was danger here. The very atmosphere crackled with it.

After what felt like an eternity, he skidded to a stop at the edge of a small lake, clearly man made. The sort of thing a rich man would build because he thought himself the master of nature. A small dock, weathered and just wide enough for two men to stand abreast floated on the opposite side of the lake.

_Charles_.

The telepath stood unsteadily at the edge of the dock, his eyes blank and fixed on something in the middle of the lake. When Erik looked at it though, he saw nothing, only a flash like light reflecting on glass, before who ever had been there disappeared. He was distracted from his contemplation of the flash by a sudden movement from the dock.

Charles had launched himself off of it and was careening through the air with a pained expression on his entranced face. He hit the water with a smack that echoed across the whole landscape. Erik's heart lurched.

Normally Erik would have waited for the telepath to resurface, but in this place, where he was sure of nothing else, he was sure that Charles was in trouble. He rushed into the lake. Whatever was going on was dangerous. He struck out, headed to the center of the lake.

* * *

><p>Despite the urgency of Erik's movements, it took far longer than would have in the real world to reach the spot where his friend had fallen. Diving to Charles' depth took even longer. The water felt thick and viscous, as though it was actively resisting Erik's efforts to reach the bottom. With every downward stroke, an angry whistling filled his ears. By the time the mutant finally fought his way deep enough to clamp his hands around Charles' arms, his own breath was nearly gone.<p>

Erik pulled and pulled, but Charles was unmoving. Desperate, Erik cast his awareness out across the water. There was no metal here exactly, but he could feel a force akin to a magnetic field all around the telepath.

In one last massive effort, Erik hurled his consciousness at it. The force didn't break as he had hoped, but it stuttered long enough for him to dislodge Charles from its grip. Propelled by the German's last bit of frantic energy, they surged back through the strange water, up to the surface.

Breaking through into the world above, Erik gasped, taking in a much needed lungful of air. He was grateful for whatever dream physics had kept him alive underwater for so long, but it hadn't been an altogether pleasant experience. He looked at Charles, who was pulled close in his arms. The telepath's head lolled to the side and no breath came from him.

Erik shook him a little. There was no response.

Panic started to flood over the German, but his training took over and replaced it with a frozen detachment.

_Get him to the shore_, said the training and Erik's body moved, carrying the two men to the banks. Erik dragged Charles across the sand and into the grass that seemed to hold the vestiges of warmth from a long ago summer's day. He turned the professor onto his back.

Panic threatened to creep in again when he regarded the wan face under him. Without those preternatural eyes looking around and weighing everything, Charles' face seemed much younger. There were tiny dark smudges under his eyes and his nose was endearingly crooked. Tightness spread throughout Erik's chest and it was harder for the emotionlessness to override his feelings this time.

But the detachment did return and it said_ revive Charles_. Erik put his hands over his friend's heart, pushed, once, twice, and then lowered his lips to the telepath's blue ones.

* * *

><p>Charles' senses came screaming back to life. This was nothing like the slow return to consciousness after being overwhelmed by Cerebro; this was having an electric jolt administered to his heart. There were lips on his own.<p>

He opened his eyes to see a furious green ones staring back at him. His eyelids fluttered, drew back enough that their mouths were no longer touching, but he went no further away than that. Neither of them moved, only stared. A little fission of feeling shocked across the telepath's skin. He held his breath and waited. The moment stretched out and on until abruptly it snapped, broken when Erik released a little puff of breath that floated across the professor's cheek, warming it for an instant, and pulled completely away.

At first what registered with Charles was disappointment, but when he felt the other man's weight settle across his thighs, what he noticed instead was that Erik was straddling him on the hotel bed. In his undershirt and drawers. He looked up at his friend, at a loss for words. Then Erik moved. He leaned down and supported his weight with one hand near Charles' shoulder. He was coming nearer.

"Wha-what?" Charles spluttered.

Erik didn't respond or change his serious expression.

Oh God, the telepath breathed deep and prayed he wasn't going to give himself away. He told himself that he would need to be gentle. Not go wild. He was the experienced one here (well, sort of). But Erik's face was quickly beyond his. He was reaching for something above the professor's head.

Charles was a bit put out. He consoled himself in considering that Erik's stretch had afforded him a particularly nice view of the skin stretching across his friend's collar bone. Glorious freckled skin, untanned from months of wearing sweaters and tantalizingly close. He'd always rather had a thing for clavicles. Mmm…

Distracted as he was, the pillow's first strike came from nowhere. And the second. And the third. By the fourth hit though, he had recovered enough to see that his attacker was Erik.

Crossing his hands over his head protectively, he yelped, "What the fuck?"

The other mutant stopped his assault long enough to fix Charles with a hard stare. "It seemed better to not hit you with my fists," he rumbled and resumed his blows.

The professor couldn't formulate a response to that one without more information. Erik was angry then? Charles stopped and felt for his emotions. Yes, yes, there was anger there. Although not the murderous kind that he normally associated with Erik. This anger was threaded with concern and fear. Something had frightened his stoic friend enough to draw him out of his own sleep and to Charles' side. From Erik he got a mental flash of his step-father's lake and suddenly Charles knew to whom the pulling, insistent hands belonged.

Clearly this was not a situation where reason was going to win out immediately.

The telepath wriggled, trying to dislodge Erik. The only notice he gave of the effort was to widen his stance a tiny amount. It was enough. Charles scooted further up the bed and grabbed a pillow of his own.

Using it as a shield, he deflected two more of Erik's slaps. "Truce, please?" He stuck his head around the edge of the pillow and received a smart hit for his troubles.

Well, alright then. It seemed he had gotten himself into a real, old fashioned pillow fight. He supposed he owed it to Erik to let him work out his feelings. The man didn't really seem to have any non-physical way to do so.

Charles gritted his teeth and settled in to wait. That is until a particularly hard blow to his stomach knocked some of his breath from him.

_ Jesus Christ_. There went that plan. He was a grown man. He didn't have to take this lying down.

Charles hooked his foot around Erik's ankle and pulled the other mutant off balance. He didn't flatter himself into thinking it was anything other than surprise that toppled his opponent, but he still took advantage of the opportunity to pull himself upright and land a smack across Erik's side.

"Ha," he jumped up and down in triumph.

* * *

><p>Erik let him jump a few times before he struck the back of Charles' knee with perfect calculation. It was the telepath's turn to fall. His pillow abandoned, Erik rushed instead to pin him. The fucking idiot. What had he done? Why the fuck had he gone into the water when he couldn't stand it?<p>

_He did it for you, remember?_ said a small voice in his head before he squashed it.

Charles rolled before Erik had a good hold on him, breaking free. He launched an offensive of his own that Erik couldn't help but to admire. His technique was far from perfect, but he was proving to be surprisingly nimble. The tactician in him approved, even as he looked for weaknesses in Charles' defense.

There were two, possibly three ways that he could stop the telepath's assault and break the weak hold that Charles had managed to grab on him, but the desire to fight leaked out of him. It was hard to do, every sense in his body screamed against it, but he relaxed, letting the professor win.

Charles released his grip on Erik's shoulders at once. He seemed abashed. "Sorry," he muttered, not looking at Erik. "I should have just let you have your go at me."

_Soft_, the German thought,_ not ready for war_. But for the first time he felt more concern for the pale professor than distaste for his idealistic approach to conflict.

A smile touched the corners of Erik's mouth. "Should have let you explain. What was that?"

Charles drew his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. When I was young and lacked control, I ended up in some other people's dreams, but I've never had someone enter my own. How could anyone get past my wards?"

"Well, I got there." Erik frowned. "Might it have anything to do with your drinking?"

A blush crept across the professor's cheeks; he could have passed for Hank's brother. "N-no," said Charles slowly, "I've been far drunker and never pulled in someone sleeping with me." His blush got even darker. "Well, not that you were _sleeping with_ me, I mean, y'know sleeping near me."

Erik disregarded the last part of Charles' speech. As though he needed that distinction made. Though the blushing it produced was rather amusing. English propriety. "Your dream wasn't…right. You still weren't breathing when I woke."

What color had been in Charles' face drained away. "A dream that wasn't right." He nibbled on the corner of his finger, a habit Erik typically would have detested. "And you were in my dream right when you went to sleep?"

"Ja," Erik nodded.

"But my wards should have been working," Charles muttered, annoyed. "How? Another telepath? Impossible."

They both stopped. Another telepath.

_Shaw's diamond woman._

As soon as the thought was out everything seemed much grimmer. It was hardly believable that there had been a pillow fight moments earlier.

"How could she have gotten to you?" Erik asked finally, breaking the silence.

Charles rubbed two fingers against the side of his head in his customary gesture. "I don't know, my friend. I can't find a trace of her anywhere."

His face looked tired and years older than it had when he lay unconscious on the dream-grass. Erik rolled a little closer and patted his ankle. He was rewarded with a small surprised smile that brought a responding curve to his own mouth. Charles quickly turned sober again though.

"Shaw's beginning the battle already. We need to hurry."

* * *

><p><strong>It seems the consensus was that ya'll wanted Erik to be a little more attached. I think I just wanted the dang pillow fight. Who knew they'd go so well together? ;)<strong>

**I wanted to take the time to thank all of you who reviewed the last chapter and everyone who encouraged me to keep writing this, either in your review or through messaging. I appreciate your taking the time to let me know you were reading the story and wanting more. And of course I just want to thank anyone who reviewed period. It's the best present you can give, I promise.:)**


End file.
